


In Fading Light

by milgarion



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 08:50:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 63,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milgarion/pseuds/milgarion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the battle at the black gates, with the chance of losing everything, Aragorn come to realise something he has long repressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It had all gone terribly wrong.

The vague notion surprised him a little, as though every nuance of fear and desperation had been a trick played upon his mind, a fear without foundation because how could they possibly fail when they had justice and righteousness on their side, when theirs was a story of good and evil and everyone already knew the ending before the telling.

Surely his doubts had been lip service prayer, pained words uttered to show that he too was mortal and afraid, no higher in station than those around them in order to gain their trust at his humility.

He lay upon his back, the weight and agonies upon his body the barest whisper of a dream that faded and flickered with each long press of his eyes closing, every breath hollow and ethereal. Lacking substance and presence.

He was dimly aware of the copper tang that cloyed in his mouth, his tongue weakly probing the looseness of his tooth, the smallest of his injuries and yet the most fascinating to him as he stared up at the sky, eyes fixed yet unseeing on a scrap of dusk that drifted and filtered through the straggling scraps of cloud that scudded the darkening sky, the faint glimmer of a star holding his attention for the briefest of moments.

He could barely breathe.

Though whether it was from the knife wound or the sight at his side he could not tell. He could feel the clouded stare upon his face, burning as it traced across his cheek, every speck of blood under weary scrutiny.

The fingers clasped within his hand flickered briefly, compelling him to turn his head and spill the tears that had gathered in his eyes across his cheek.

"You should go." Legolas spoke, the whispered words more a sibilant arrangement of air between his lips, stained with the sweet and sickly smell of blood.

Aragorn traced the tired lines of the face before him, skin pale under the sky with not a trace of the battle to flaw him save the unnatural whiteness that seemed to seep all warmth from him, as though leeching the life from within himself that he would gladly give to save the dullness in the those eyes.

"I'll not leave." Aragorn whispered, as though placating a child in the darkness of the night when they call out from their slumber with haunted visions of spectres and beings.

He turned to face the sky again, trying not to see upon the edges of his vision the wavering line of the arrow that pierced Elvin flesh, running swift and deep and not close enough to its mark to make such an end that would have left him on his knees weeping, holding onto lifeless limbs and pressing his cheek to cold skin. Instead it had been like this he had found him, surrounded not by the blackened bodies that stained the ground with ghastly ore, but on the only green upon the earth around them. It was fitting that he should have fallen here, with the sweet smell of his nature beneath his back, the unspoilt blades caressing the back of his hand as it lay to his side. He looked to be only resting, and indeed it had seemed to Aragorn that as he gazed upon him that he slept in the way he sometimes did, eyes unseeing as though looking inward towards some beatific reveries, the softest hint of a smile upon his face and he was compelled to sit, to let his knees take the brunt of his fall as he slumped to the ground as Legolas turned his palm upward in supplication to Aragorn's questioning hand, letting the sword roughened hand slide loosely around his own as he whispered "Join me," into the encroaching darkness, drawing him down with compulsion to lay beside him.

"They will be looking for you." The elf said softly, as though they lay on the river bank at the end of a late summer day, his voice heavy with sleep, almost content.

"Let them look." As I have looked. Eyes scouring the land, the blood dripping from his side with each expired breath as his gaze flicked from face to face, reading the feathers of each arrow as though to decipher a path, following the footprints in the dirt as they turned and spun and parried with fluid grace that could barely be read beneath the gore. Of course he had heard them call for him, the voices far away both on the wind and in his mind, paying them no heed as he searched with pained step, his hand falling from his side as it too became weakened from its hold, each footfall costing him dearly, the patterns of the braids to look for dancing in front of his eyes.

The hand within his grip moved, fingers slipping to lace within his own, a brief clarity of strength and then... "I grow tired Estel."

Aragorn let his eyes be drawn back to that pale face, blinking through the hair in his eyes as he noted the sense of wonder in the elf's voice. Of course, he would never have felt weariness such as this, the slow seeping drain of energy that left without a fight, the cold that wove its way insidiously into every pore and made you cling to the ground as though to sink down within its darkened, blood spattered folds. So easy it would be to turn their cheeks to the grass, to let their lashes fall upon their cheeks and rest.

Only not to waken, to never see the sun rise or the moon that cast its grim pallor on the matted clouds above them set.

Aragorn felt his heart stir, felt the sluggish blood within his veins take speed, the thrum of hope and valour claw at his chest as he fought to rise, his weight wavering as he drew himself up onto his elbow, head rolling onto his shoulder as he stared down at joined hands.

"Elves do not sleep in the way of men," he mumbled, lifting his eyes with great effort to lock his gaze with his friend, "And I shall not allow you to succumb to slumber this day." He straightened, planting his hand upon the ground to balance himself as he tugged lightly upon the hand that had fallen lax within his. "Come."

Legolas seemed to sigh, an impatient sound that did not sit easily within his consciousness, as though about to be scolded as he had been so many times in his youth.

"Leave me be Aragorn, the light is fading can't you see." He eyes directed to the sky, a futile intolerance edging his voice that sought to drive irritation into Aragorn's mind.

"And it shall grow darker before the dawn." Aragorn countered, petulance colouring his words and he reached forward to place his hand against the elf's cheek, turning him so that they could look each other in the eye. "Do not make me mourn you." What he hoped for as a command instead left his lips as a brittle, broken plea, his thumb smoothing over pale skin and leaving the first smudge of chaos and destruction upon the striking face.

"As if I could ever defy your will." Legolas returned, the barest flicker of a smile gracing his lips. He brought his hand up from the grass to touch his fingers to Aragorn's wrist, briefly tracing the line of his pulse as though to reassure himself of the life that continued on. "Though I fear this is one duty I cannot be held to." The words shook as they left his lips, eyes dark and fading with the light as Aragorn brought his hand to rest upon his chest, fingers spread and framing the intrusion that even now drew life from immortality.

"Legolas..." the blood was warm beneath his hand, soaking into his skin with a horrifying intimacy. His fingers trembled as he turned them, his mind unravelling with terror. What could he say that would make this right, that would make up for his mistakes, for not daring to believe even his own doubts. For bringing them here, and to this. Kneeling and praying without hope as Legolas wiped the tears from his face and whispered words that should have been from Aragorn's lips. He should not be the one being comforted, to be forgiven. He turned his face into the tremulous touch, holding him fast as he kissed his palm, pouring out his grief and agony as he whispered, "Please." His breath burnt like fire in his lungs. "Please."

He held the hand to his face, eyes closed and pressed into the fading warmth, aware of the high ring of voices that called out too late, of the weight that sought to drag the light touch from his cheek, lax and spent, but he held fast, refusing to let go, to open his eyes to see the life and light gone from one who deserved unending days.

He could hear the footfalls now, the clamoring of voices and the hands upon his shoulder as softly spoken words rained down upon his ears to fall unlistened and ignored, for what council could they bring him now. His hand eased from its rictus grip, so very cold as every nerve yearned forward to cling to remaining heat, fingertips outstretched as he was borne away, aching desperation peeling at his heart as he turned to face the sky. "Please."


	2. Chapter 2

The air was warm around him, the lights dimmed in deference to the early hour. The hall was packed, every bed occupied apart from his own, the covers strewn from his restless attempts to sleep, to follow the pleas and worried glances, the hands that had held him down when he tried to rise.

But there was no rest for him, no welcome respite to calm the tortured visions that danced before his eyes, of blood of screams and eyes wide open as one by one they fell before him, blades slipping from numbed fingers as the life was slashed and torn from them in wave after wave of clashing sword and singing bow.

He had risen from his bed, his steps unsure and breath uneven as he walked the length of the hall, to the one bed which drew the eyes of every man that walked through the doors, even now they hovered near, their eyes upon his shoulders as much as the pained face that lay before him.

He had loosened the braids, his fingertips smoothing out the knots that tangled the silken hair, brushing it back to lay loose around pale shoulders, murmured words of prayer and song whispered from his lips on fading breath.

He'd heard Eomer try to send the men away, but there was nowhere else for them to go, the walls of the healing houses fit to burst and its workers overrun, not that he would have allowed anyone but himself to tend to the fevered brow, despite the protests of his own hurts. Watching every flicker of pain and discomfort on the flushed face, heart beating every time he thought those eyes to open. But he lay unresting, mindless of Aragorn's touch upon his cheek.

"I always forget how old he is." Aragorn said lowly, aware of the ears nearby.

Eomer shifted his weight against the wall, his folded arms tightening across his chest as his vigil was shaken, the faraway nostalgia in the ranger's voice making him straighten.

"You've seen the others..." His fingertips hovered, barely tracing the sharp line of his cheek. "They look as though men coming upon their prime, so strong and fair." He drew back, his hand resting in his lap. "Legolas has always looked like this, so very young." He felt the ghost of a smile twist lips. "I remember a time when we appeared the same age."

"You have known him long then?" Eomer asked, he slid to a crouch, his back sliding against the wall with the soft scrape of his armour.

"Since I was a boy." He admitted softly.

"A glorious childhood you must have had, to have grown up with the elves." Eomer said quietly.

Aragorn smiled. "For myself yes, perhaps not for those who tried to raise me." He flicked his gaze to meet the stern regard of the horseman. "I'm fairly certain Legolas still bears a scar from teaching me to shoot."

Guilt surged within the memories wake, an iced knife that plunged with dreaded fire through his veins, to make his heart leap with remorse and shame. "Such constance in my life...it is so easy to forget that he..."

"He still remains." Eomer said softly, covering the silence left behind the choking tightness in his throat that cut his speech.

But for how long. His eyes were drawn with unerring gravity to the dark stain on crisp white linen that had wrapped the elf's chest, the arrow drawn and cast aside without a second look, the healer's hands swift and skilful as they measured out their craft.

"I have seen men come back from much worse." Eomer offered quietly, "And these healers know their craft like no one I have ever seen." He flexed his arm, his own darkened gaze drawn to the bandage around his forearm that covered a wound that longer even pulled or stung.

Aragorn sighed, unable to fight the way his shoulders drew in as his breath left him. "But he is not a man." He whispered almost to himself, drawing his finger along the length of silken hair that splayed out across the pillow, idly wrapping it around his thumb and watching the light catch within its golden strands.

;,;,;,;,;,;,;,;,;,;,;,

"My lord?" Faramir had been speaking for a while, his words quiet and hypnotic, washing over him and soothing him as his gaze grew distant and was drawn into the fire, watching the flames lick at the grate and the coals hiss and pop.

"My lord, I understand that you must be weary..." The papers in Faramir's hands dropped.

Aragorn rubbed at his brow, feeling the day's pressure mounting up upon him.

Footsteps receded from the room, the other men present sent away with the briefest nod of the steward's head, their voices hushed and awkward as they remarked upon the King's demeanour.

"Perhaps you should retire." Faramir chanced taking a seat at the table, pushing aside and piling up the papers amassed. "They say you haven't rested since the battle."

"I rested enough." He replied, his voice worn with care. He breathed in deeply, relishing the sting of a wound not yet begun to heal, the pain a momentary distraction from the weights upon his mind.

"These matters can wait until morning." Faramir laid his papers down with the rest. "All our men are back within the walls, the garrison have reclaimed Osgiliath and the host have been pushed back beyond the river. There are none left to fight, my lord. The city shall sleep soundly tonight, as should you." He placed a hand on Aragorn's shoulder, its weight and solidity a comfort in these unfamiliar halls. "Word will be sent out tomorrow of your victory here, one of our messengers should reach Imladris within a fortnight." He spoke lightly, hoping to elicit something of a smile with the news of his people.

There was a knock at the door, quiet and subdued as though not to disturb their counsel, a page sent to let them know that dinner was ready.

"Do not send word to Mirkwood just yet." Aragorn said slowly as he rose. "I would not wish to raise the King's ire before giving his son the chance to recover." His voice was thick with defeat, resignation colouring every word and bending his back with added weight as he made for the end of the hall, away from Faramir, away from the fire. Away from the path he'd walked many times to stand unbeckoned at the end of his bed, counting the breaths that escaped colourless lips.


	3. Chapter 3

The banners were being sewn, ribbons and garlands gathered and decorating every hallway, every doorway. Everywhere the sound of rejoicing could be heard echoing from the once cold stone walls.

Never mind that half the city was dead, never mind that the walls still crumbled, that everyone he saw had lost someone. That it had been four days and not a word had passed those lips, that the barest flicker of his eyes had told tale of his awakening.

Aragorn sat in silence, as he had done every moment afforded to him.

He held a fascination for the bowl of water, the way it parted and held his hands in a cool embrace. The ripples that curved and arced around its surface as it dripped from his finger tips. He'd lost count the number of times he had wrung the cloth out, folding it neatly before pressing it to chilled skin.

He'd run out of words to say long ago, there was nothing he could say that he was brave enough to utter. Instead he sung softly, low and airy in languages that none around him knew, the lyrics lost on all passing ears but perhaps they guessed at the meaning.

Four days. Uncounted hours that stretched and pulled at him, the time passing with every sluggish beat of his heart with a weary misery that pressed down upon him, the sense of being trapped between two places heavy on his chest.

Outside they sang songs of victory.

Outside they buried the dead.

He held the pale hand between his own, tracing every line and imagining every arrow ever drawn. His skin was cool, neither living nor dead. It was these quiet moments where he would bring that hand to his cheek, to press into the unfeeling touch and for the briefest of moments he felt the agony of the battlefield in his heart again.

That one blinding second that had shaken the very earth beneath him as he realised that all he had fought for had come to nought. That there had been a truth before him he had never hoped or dared to look for. For what was victory at the expense of the heart.

His eyes clouded with tears, brimming and spilling to run between porcelain fingers, to curl around the slender wrist and trace the faint path of life beneath silken skin. "I'm lost." He whispered, a feeling of betrayal welling up behind his tears, as though to voice his fears was to become them, he had fought all these years, repressed so much, how could he possibly put into words now that which had become ingrained within every fibre of his being. His fear, his terror and failing, of not being all that they had built him up to be. "I've never wanted this.

'But then, you knew that better than anyone." He dropped their clasped hands to his lap, holding tight as though the gentlest of breezes would be enough to rend them apart.

"You remember when we met..." He laughed drily, "Of course you remember, you remember everything.'

'I can't have been more that 10 years old, even I can barely remember those days. But I remember being told you were coming, that you were the greatest archer to walk middle earth, and you were a Prince. I'd been brought up amongst lords and ladies and people of high titles but never had I met a Prince, real royalty, and Mirkwood seemed so far away as to be a wholly different world. I waited at the gates to see your party arrive. I don't really know what I expected; whenever my brothers or Lord Elrond travelled they always seemed to go amongst banners and trumpets. But then, they never really went very many places."

He glanced up as one of the healers passed, her head covered in the dark robes of her station, her eyes fixed on the floor and paying no indication that she had overheard any of the words Aragorn had said. He pressed his tongue against his teeth, trying to recall what he had said and what language had rolled from his tongue, his racing heart glad to know he had guarded his words just as much as he'd guarded his thoughts. "There was no fanfare," he went on, over the momentary distraction. "No call from the gate guards. In fact, there was nothing to give your party away from one of our own other than the way you looked. I remember that you waved to me as I sat on the gate wall, I wasn't meant to be there, and anyone else would have called for me to come down. But you didn't, you just smiled and waved. '

'I have always been treated as a child, even in the years since I've grown, a childhood spent with those a thousand years my senior and with not another friend with which to run and play. It's not how I would want any child of mine to be raised. I was always loved, of that there was no doubt, but I have always had the sense that I am looked down upon, that no matter how many years pass by I shall forever be seen as the man hindered by short years and lacking in the wisdom only earned by countless years of study.

'You never treated me as such." He turned the hand over within his, finger tips drawing lines across the bow worn palm, hesitating to hide the tightness of his throat. "Who knows why." He smiled at the thought of sun dappled days of his childhood. "I followed you all over, hung on your every word. I was devastated the day you had to leave."

He paused, watching the motionless face before him for any sign of change, to see whether the telling of his tale had brought about any effect. He watched the shallow rise of his chest, the slow pass of air between parted lips. He had once thought he could have sat and watched him for the rest of the days afforded to him. The reality was far different to what he had expected.

"It was you I ran to when I found out who I was." He told the sleeping figure softly, the timbre of his confession revealing more than his words. "Everyone I spoke to talked to me of duty and of honour, of becoming who I was born to be, they spoke of dusty halls and stone thrones, of weighted crowns and obedience to the laws of a land I knew no love for." He placed the hand he held on sleeping chest, pale fingers just grazing the bloom of red that still coloured the petal white linen, holding it there with his own as though to feel the heart beat through them both.

"You spoke of honour, and renown, of walking a path not just with duty but with hope, and valour. Of righting wrongs long since passed and restoring faith to those who had never had the chance to feel." The fingers beneath his slipped and parted beneath his own, allowing the tips of his fingers to rest against the feel of a barely beating heart, tracing the almost indiscernible warmth through the stained wrappings. "You told me not to worry, that it would only come at a time when I was ready and that no one could ask any more of me than I was willing to give." He closed his hand around the elf's, "You calmed my fears when all I could see was a future taken away from me. You gave me hope."

There was a shudder that caught his voice as he tried to breathe, to keep the hot press of tears at bay at the futility that curled dark and insidious within the deepest caverns of his heart, chilling him with ice and stripping him of what little warmth he possessed. "I knew it then, that what I felt for you was love, but I did not understand." His hand tightened in its hold, as thought to press his insistence into unfeeling flesh. "I felt love for my brothers, for my foster father, for those of my brethren with which I hunted and rode and learnt how to fight. I thought I loved you as such."

He could feel the wall within him break, the waters of his repressed longing long held in check by the propriety held down upon him, of the need to put duty and prudence above that which he held dear, bursting at the seams and threatening to overcome him, to drag him down into furious torrents that he had no doubt would swallow him whole in the misery he had denied for the sake of others.

He could deny it no longer, not when such guilt and remorse clawed at his chest, to know that he had led others onto the field of death with misguided truth and sins of omission, when he had blinded those who deserved the light and pushed away from him that which sought to give him joy and peace.

Who was he to turn his cheek, to refute that which should have been so plain and for so long. He had known his secrets, had turned them into lingering doubts and curious daydreams, nothing more than that, for to be a king he would be a man of unwavering strength, to rely upon himself and his beliefs. He would be such a man that others would aspire to be him, to look upon him and his beauteous wife and yearn for the perfection of his rule.

But he had lied, had not truly known the depths of his own betrayal until faced with a fear he had never conceived, to see the threat of death hang over something so pure, so strong and full of life that it seemed to him as though nature had broken her own rules. With the fading beat of that strong heart he had felt his own hope wane, the fading light within those eyes becoming him, seducing him with thoughts of unending nothingness. To be faced with his own mortality, with his heart to break when he had held it so carefully, was his undoing.

His hair obscured his eyes as with bended head he pressed his cheek to cool skin, choked breath stirring flaxen hair as he waited with strained ear to hear the faint and eternal beat of the heart he had never thought to end. He sighed, an empty sound bereft of hope as he whispered one futile prayer to whatever gods held mercy for him. "Please."

The hand upon his shoulder should have startled him, should have given him cause to jump and reel but he had not the strength nor the presence of mind. He did not posses any will of his own save the grace to follow the hand that guided him to turn his face into white robes, to clutch at the wizards clothes as though a child as he poured out his grief, whatever words of comfort offered to him lost as he fought to keep his tears in check.

He could never come back from this.


	4. Chapter 4

The surface of the wine is his cup seemed to draw the light from the room, rippling as he turned it this way and that, hoping to see something in the reflection other than the blank myopic darkness that filled it. He drank it instead, savouring the light burn in his sore throat.

"I don't think we should be disturbed." Gandalf sat down opposite him, his hand resting lightly on the table top after drawing the curtains around the room, leaving them shrouded in an unnatural darkness that belied the hour of the day.

The wizard had all but dragged him by the scruff of his neck from the healing houses, a spectacle the passing guard could never hope to pass of as a truth seen with his own eyes, their victorious king with eyes red and tears upon his face pushed and guided on unresisting feet away from where their injured companion lay. Perhaps he would think the elf dead, the only one of the fair folk their kind had seen in generations passed away like the falling leaves from autumn trees. Why else should such a brave and unwavering man be driven away to be counselled.

"It is an interesting tale you tell." Gandalf said airily, almost idle in his opening gambit. Aragorn glanced up over the rim of his cup, drawing the wine slowly into his mouth and letting it sit there as he studied the old man's face, searching the lines for any hidden trace of rancour or accusation. He was met instead with the same steady gaze that had always greeted him.

"There is no need to ask of what you heard." He countered with resignation, a colourless futility dampening his words, shoulders hunched in defeat and anticipation of what the other would say next.

The silence stretched out, agonising and pressing, making the shadows that reached from the corners of the room feel darker, more enveloping, as though creeping forward to snatch at what warmth remained within his heart.

"I have little word of comfort Aragorn, such solace you desire cannot be found in the rehearsed words of others." Gandalf murmured, sounding as though the weight of the world pressed down upon his shoulders. "Yours has not been a pleasant or a simple path to walk." Fingernails scuffed at the table top, catching in the grain of the wood, worn through the varnish by countless years of councils and meetings. "I had hoped that for a time you may have found peace in this victory." He sighed heavily, carrying on in a voice much more kindly. "Tell me, how long have you loved him?"

Aragorn lowered his gaze, to speak would be to damn himself all the more. "I have always held him in the highest regard." He said weakly, the roughness of his voice betraying what it cost for him to say anything at all. He glanced askew at the wizard who looked at him pointedly as though to ask the question again, like one does a child when they know the truth was not in their answer. He cleared his throat, swallowing at the thickness that cloyed and strangled him as he tried to breathe, tried to make his lips form around the words. "I have...I have always..." but he could not say it, turning his face away instead in shame that burnt at his cheeks, not for what he would have said, but for lacking the strength to say it.

He waited for the rebuttal, for the excuses and explanations of hard won battles and the long and tiring absence from the one he had promised his heart, any excuse for him to cling to and absolve himself, for it to be brushed away and forgotten. Forgiven.

"I knew you were a man of shadows Aragorn, but I never thought you so deep as this, as to hide something I see so plainly now, and for so long." The wizards tone was not one of contempt, but of pained wonder and when he Aragorn brought himself to lift his gaze he saw a sympathy one could almost confuse as pity. "You have said nothing? To no one?" he wondered.

"I did not even say it to myself." Aragorn whispered, his focus once again upon the table top, on the way his hands framed the base of his cup. "I did not even realise until..." He faltered, seeing once again the bloodstained grass, the darkness of those eyes before him, greying in the fading light.

"You thought him fallen." Gandalf finished.

Aragorn nodded, intent in studying the way he could turn the cup tiny, pointless distances with the tips of his fingers. "Maybe I did not see it for what it was, because I was not supposed to feel it." He muttered.

"It is not for us to decide what it is we feel." Gandalf countered lowly.

Aragorn sighed. "But it is us who decides whether it is right or wrong." He lifted his hand to his face, rubbing at the tightness around his eyes from where his tears had tried. His heart clenched painfully at the thought, a small voice at the back of his mind asking him 'how can such an intrinsic truth be wrong?'

Across the table Gandalf chuckled lightly. "The laws of man are quite often broken Aragorn, you know this as well as any other."

Aragorn conceded that point. "For them to be written at all suggests that such a crime is abhorrent."

"It is no crime to love someone."

Aragorn slapped his hand down upon the table, the sharp crack echoed and muffled in the expansive room. "Is that what the laws of Gondor say? Or Rohan? Dol Amroth? Where is it that man resides that would open their arms to such transgression?"

Gandalf met his ire with cool reserve, watching him as his breath left in pained gasps as he fought to best his sudden wrath. He smiled darkly to himself, 'not yet crowned' he thought 'and already I corrupt their laws'.

"You speak as though you have already taken action." Gandalf said smoothly, keeping Aragorn's gaze until he had no choice but to look away lest he see the pain and regret in his eyes.

They sat in silence once more, the wizard making slow work of filling and smoking his pipe as Aragorn measured out the wine in methodical sips, each burning swallow taken to douse the guilty fire that flared and smouldered within his chest.

"What will you do?" Gandalf asked at length.

Aragorn pinched the bridge of his nose, utterly trapped. Sighing desolately he replied, "My duty." For what else was there for him to do. He was only one man, one man with a conflicted heart destined to rule over thousands. He did not belong to himself anymore, he belonged to Gondor, to oversee the people and uphold their laws and traditions, to become a figurehead of a new age, written about in books and songs. His was not a path to pick and choose direction where he cared, it never had been.

"You could so easily give up your affections?" Gandalf looked at him with an air of scepticism.

He shook his head lightly. "I did not say I would give them up."

"And you could turn aside and be at peace with that decision?"

"I cannot be the first who has had to do so. " Aragorn lifted his chin.

Gandalf met his eye, saddened and cheerless. "Undoubtedly not. But it is not something I would have ever wished for you."

Aragorn swallowed around the dryness in his throat, on firmer ground with the low level discord that ran through him with thought of his future written by others and not himself, it was almost calming, to focus instead on the buzzing annoyance and sense of injustice. "Wish it or not, I hold no hope for any difference."

"You will not tell him then?"

Aragorn almost laughed. "Tell him? What would I possibly say Gandalf." He shook his head, "No, He has long been my friend, nothing more."

"He is uncharacteristically fond of you." Gandalf offered, leaning forward over the table top as though conspiring.

"Legolas is fond of all people. It is his way."

Gandalf shook his head, the start of a smile lingering at the corner of his lips. "You forget that it is not just you I have counselled through the ages. I have known Legolas far longer than many can imagine, I knew him when he was just a boy himself. Precocious little thing he was too, "He smiled brightly for a moment, sitting back in his chair. "He tied my boot laces together once."

Aragorn snorted suddenly at the image.

"Nearly broke my neck," The wizard grumbled, sobering as he continued. "His station demands that he be reserved, he is a Prince of the people, a leader of their armies, much like yourself, but he has been so for more lives than you could ever hope to live. He has always known who he was, and what he was meant to be. He has been bound tightly by duty and honour to his people and their King. He has always been looked to as a model for others...tell me Aragorn; does that sound like the elf you know?"

Aragorn stared at his hands upon the table, his mind roving back over the months that led him here, remembering now how the elf had changed almost the moment the walls of Imladris had faded from view, how his smiles came more freely, his speech more relaxed. He tried to count how many times Legolas have shown him deference, silent, unspoken commands between them both that he had obeyed without protest, he had trusted Aragorn so completely and never once questioned his judgement that Aragorn had forgotten in whose presence he stood, whose simple command could reduce him to being wholly beyond mercy. He thought of the nights where he could not sleep, rolling from his blanket and sitting idly beside the Elf, passing the hours playing games and counting the stars until Aragorn confessed his troubles or it was time to move on.

He thought of Rivendell, of the years that had passed before him and of every council he had attended, of dinners and dances and emissary visits to Mirkwood and the hall of the King. He thought of Legolas, his face a cool mask, his voice affected with strength and authority, of how he sat straighter and did not notice that others let their eyes rest upon him. For him, he saw through the act, for that was what it was for him who had the honour of walking alone with the Prince. Aragorn suddenly felt pity for those who did not know the elf as he did, who did not see the laughter and the light behind his eyes and thought only of him as a figure on unquestionable authority.

"I have seen a change in him, these years that he has known you." Gandalf added quietly.

Aragorn felt a low growl curling up inside him, momentarily pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes before standing suddenly. "You seek answers and recourse that I am unable to give." He hissed, angry with himself, with Gandalf, with the arrow that had not quite hit its target. "My mind is clouded Gandalf, I cannot think straight."

"And nor would anyone who had not rested fitfully for many days." Gandalf looked at him pointedly and Aragorn felt his cheeks flame to realise the wizard now knew the true reason for his countless moonlit strolls, for his evenings spent staring out beyond the ramparts, any action to seek out company forgotten in lieu of his own tortured indecision. He turned his head to conceded the point, feeling all of a sudden claustrophobic in the over warm room. He longed for the forests of his home, to wander freely to let his mind walk its own path. But there were no trees here in the city, save for the wind stripped saplings that tried in vain to grow taller than the walls around them, or the neatly tended gardens with their flowers planted in rows. It was not a city in which ones mind could easily be lost.

He needed the freshness of the air at least, and so he turned towards the door, thinking that maybe he should have some last passing remark for the other man, or that he would have one of his own. But they parted in silence, with Aragorn taking measured strides that would take him in unplanned directions, hoping to find some futile measure of relief in the action of movement.


	5. Chapter 5

It was late in the morning when Aragorn was roused from his sleep by the scuffle just outside his door, his mind still foggy from a restless sleep that had not come to him until the first rays of the sun had started to colour the eastern sky, and even then he tossed and turned in his sheets, seeing beyond the darkness to torturous dreams.

He sat up with heroic effort, rubbing at his face as the bedroom door opened and he was treated to the comic sight of both Gimli and one of the citadel guards trying to walk through at the same time, becoming stuck in the jamb for a moment before the dwarf squeezed his way through. They both looked a little out of breath as though they had raced there, the guard had a somewhat put out expression that the dwarf had beaten him at the final hurdle.

"Nearly noon and still abed?" Gimli all but roared, his hair wild now it was not held down with the weight of his helm. "Come Aragorn, tis a glorious day! Our friend awakens!" He tugged at the blankets and sheets as though to drag Aragorn from the bed himself.

Aragorn halted, his heart lurching painfully in his chest with his hand halfway through his hair. Surely he had misheard; surely Gimli talked of someone else. "What?"

"Come! Come, rise." The dwarf tossed a shirt into his face, startling him and sending the guard into near apoplection to see his lord treated thusly. "Legolas wakes, we must see how he fares."

"He's awake." Aragorn's voice had lost all colour, breathless and shallow as he mutely watched as Gimli continued to hurl clothes at him until he had little left to do than start pulling on the sheets again. His heart was racing, his mouth dry, it was glorious news indeed and a part of him rejoiced that the elf would recover, that the final shot had not yet stripped him of life. But the darker part of him was at war, the part of him that ached to touch, to see, to smell, to taste, that yearned for nothing more than hold the elf and never let go, that part of him stirred with a sparking fire that gave him doubts. He had not given thought as to what he would do once Legolas woke, what he would say, or do, whether his actions or words would give him away somehow.

He hadn't had enough time to think, to be able to sit in silence and gaze upon that face while he struggled through the complexities that snagged at the fabric of his mind. "When did he wake?" he asked, rolling back the covers and stalling.

"Some time ago, we thought you would have made an appearance by now, he asks for you." Gimli smiled broadly, motioning for Aragorn to hurry.

He climbed from the bed, reaching for the shirt and tugging it over his head. He should have been there when he woke, should never have left his side.

It only took him a minute to dress, tugging on his boots as the guard held the door for him. His footsteps rang through the hallways as they walked, deafeningly loud and fast, though he felt restrained. He wanted to run, to fly through the city, prudence be damned. His fingers played at the fastenings of his shirt, kept brushing the hair from his face and he forced himself to regain composure, to stop from biting at his tongue in order to quell the urge to speak that name that had been forever on the edge of his lips these last few days.

He took the stairs at speed, leaving the dwarf behind and dismissing the guard with a quick motion of his hand. He saw the hobbits outside the healing house, standing up on tip toe as they peered in through one of the windows, trying to see round the edge of the curtain.

He paused on the threshold, suddenly overcome with nervousness, wiping his hands on his shirt and smiling back at Pippin who grinned at him and bid him good morning.

The door was already ajar and needed only for him to lightly push against it to swing open, gaining him entrance to the cool room. His eyes were drawn immediately to the bed, ignoring the healer who hovered quietly at the back of the room, her head bowed in deference to the company, he didn't pay heed to Gandalf who sat crouched over in a chair at the bedside, his voice dying away as Aragorn entered. All he could see was the light in the elf's eyes as Legolas turned to smile tremulously at him.

A relief unlike any Aragorn had ever felt before flooded through him, his knees week and he grasped at the door handle to ground himself, holding in the breath that sought to escape him in a rush of gratitude.

There was a soft murmur as Gandalf rose, his hands clasped warmly around the elf's as he bowed to press a quick kiss to the top of the Prince's head. He paused at the doorway to fix Aragorn with a deliberate look before turning his head to bid the healer to follow him, the door sliding quietly into the latch behind them as they left, leaving them alone.

It took a conscious effort for Aragorn to step forward, to plant one foot in front of the other to stand beside the elf's bed, aware that he was staring but not finding the strength to draw his gaze away. Surely he must be able to hear how his hard raced, how it hammered against his chest and deafened him.

"Estel." Legolas smiled softly, voice hoarse from disuse as he beckoned him closer.

Aragorn sighed quickly, finding a smile lifting his own lips as he placed his hand on the back of the chair. "It is a great relief to hear you speak again my friend." He could not hide the delight in his voice. "Gimli said you asked for me?"

Legolas smiled again, "If only to see you well." He lifted his hand briefly and Aragorn took notice that he shook as he motioned him towards him. "Sit closer Estel, if your time can be spared to offer me your company."

Aragorn wasted no time, stepping smartly across the floor and sitting down upon the edge of the bed, taking the hand offered to him to hold within his own. "My time is yours whenever you should ask for it." Aragorn replied, honesty adding vehemence to his countenance. "How do you fare?" His eyes roved over the face before him, noting that little colour had returned to the pale cheeks, the eyes that had shone so brightly only moments ago now ringed with tiredness, he held the cool hand within his tightly, hoping to calm the tremor that shook him.

Legolas fixed him with a pointed stare causing Aragorn to smirk. "Given time I shall recover. Gandalf says you have yet to send word to my father."

"That is true," Aragorn nodded. "I did not wish to alarm him unnecessarily. I will have a messenger sent out this very afternoon." He assured him. This seemed to appeal the elf.

"And what of the others? It was good to see so many of our fellowship whole and unscathed, but they did not speak of the others we rode into battle with."

"Most are well," Aragorn reassured him. "Eowyn still recovers, but she is on her feet. We were lucky, so few of us were harmed, but it was a quick fight, over shortly after it had begun thanks to our little Halflings."

"There is a weight that seems to be lifted from Frodo, that is for sure." Legolas sighed, "He and Sam seem to be quite well despite their ordeals. But what of you? What of your hurts?"

Aragorn shook his head. "You need not worry, the healers here are quick and skilled, they saw to my wounds with such care that they barely pain me even though they are yet to heal."

"That is a joy to me my friend." Aragorn felt the hand within his tighten for a moment, assurance and comfort reflected in the simple touch. "I worried for you."

Aragorn looked down, letting his hair hide his face as he dared to trace his thumb across the back of the hand cupped within his own, marking the difference in their skin with stark contrast. His throat felt tight, a wave of guilt washing over him. "I should not have left you." He whispered quietly. "I am sorry. I ...I thought you dead when they took me from your side, had I known..."

"Aragorn..." Legolas interrupted, "Do not think yourself to blame for my being here. Had you not been beside me they may not have found me at all."

The incredulity in the elf's fair voice did little to offer Aragorn the comfort to cease his racing heart. He wanted to argue, to castigate himself as he had already done a thousand times when he spent his nights alone picking over a hundred different scenarios and 'what ifs'.

"Will you help me sit Estel?" Legolas asked, breaking Aragorn's reverie. "The taste of blood in my mouth is enough to make me feel faint again."

Aragorn jumped to comply, holding him gently and moving pillows and cushions, ignoring the feel of silken hair against his cheek and warm breath against his neck. He helped hold the glass of water as Legolas drank his fill, thanking Aragorn with a small smile as he settled back against the pillows with a pained sigh, the movement sapping what little strength he had left in him.

"You are tired." Aragorn spoke, "I should leave you to rest."

He began to rise but was halted by a cool touch on his arm and a disarmingly blue gaze that rooted him to the spot. "Stay a little longer." Legolas asked him, as though expecting Aragorn to dismiss him. As if he could ever deny the prince. The tension in his brow eased as Aragorn settled once again on the beds edge. "Tell me of what I have missed." He asked, his eyes weary but holding Aragorn's warm gaze.

He nodded, and started from the beginning, filling in the days that had passed from the end of the battle, of the heroic deeds and brave stories that had been garnered and shared amongst those that returned, his voice filling the room with a steady hypnotic sound that soothed them both and it was not long before Aragorn looked up to find the elf asleep, soft breaths falling from parted lips and lashes dark upon pale cheeks.

He paused in his story telling, his hand coming to rest lightly on that of the elf's that still lay against his arm, taking it within his own and placing it gently upon the bed. He sat for a moment, glad to see no pain lining the fair face, so young and elegant even in rest. With daring he leant forward, his fingers reaching out to brush away an errant lock of hair, tucking it neatly behind pointed ear.

Aragorn smiled to himself, allowing himself this time to simply sit and take solace and joy at having him returned and knowing that in time they may once again talk and laugh and sing and dance as they had done so many times before. His heart light within his chest for the first time in days, it would no doubt grow heavier later, given time to think and chastise himself, but for now, he felt alive again.


	6. Chapter 6

Aragorn's fingers thrummed on the table top, his right leg bouncing and twitching in an overt show of impatience as he signed his name again, and again, and again. Papers placed in front of him and summarised dutifully by Faramir who stood beside him, the steward's words lost on him as he fought the urge to simply throw the stack of documents into the fire.

He'd not had a spare minute to himself, it seemed as though every moment of the day from sunrise to sunset was accounted for, dragged into counsels and meetings, of discussing city matters and plans for his own coronation, scheduled just a week away when it was expected that those sent for by messengers should return.

He'd had no other chance to see Legolas again, had no spare moment where he could stand within the doorway of his room and watch him sleep. Not that he knew what he would say or do when he woke. He felt his heart leap within his throat with every passing thought of the elf, his mind drifting off to conversations long past, or the way his heart had calmed to sit beside him and know him well. He had been called from these reveries more than once and found his face aflame as he muttered and excused himself from the baffled advisors, seeking a moments reprise to right himself, to force out all thought of pretty smiles and golden hair.

But try as he might he could not cast all thought of the elf from his mind, could no longer deny his feelings than ask the sun not to rise.

With a sigh he signed the last paper before him, waving Faramir off before he could open his mouth with another request. Aragorn felt his shoulders slump, tired and aching after having been sat for what felt like hours, his hands rubbing at his tired face until spots danced in front of his eyes. He glanced at the window, at the level of light that poured in and deduced it to be nearly dinner. Perhaps this night they would let him dine with his friends, not holed away like some miser enslaved to his work, pausing only to take hurried snatches of food and drink to fuel him long into the night.

At length he stood, stretching out his tired limbs and making his way to the window to look out upon his city, bathed in the light of the setting sun so that the walls gleamed pink, the banners lifting in the gentle breeze the only movement. With a surreptitious glance towards the door, Aragorn lifted himself onto the window sill, throwing his legs over and pushing himself out to land lightly on the other side, a smirk gracing his lips as he walked quickly but softly away from the meeting room.

They would no doubt frown at him and mutter amongst themselves at his childish antics, but what use was there being the highest in command if he could not allow yourself the time to appreciate his rule. At least, that is what he told himself as he rounded a corner and pulled off an impressive flurry of movements to conceal himself behind a pillar so as not to be seen by one of Faramir's aides.

He was almost enjoying himself by the time he found himself by the healing houses, his footsteps drawn here on an impulse. He hovered in the doorway for a moment, his back pressed to the door as a troop of council members walked past the end of the path.

He breathed deeply, steeling himself.

Wasn't this just what he had wanted? To escape the confines of his duties for time enough to see his friend well again, to know that he grew stronger and with every passing hour his smile came easier, the light in his eyes shone just that little bit stronger.

So why did he hesitate?

Was it the same sense of desperate injustice that made him turn his face into his pillow at night, that made him bite his tongue and keep his words in check whenever he had to listen to plans of his own wedding.

His brief conversation with Gandalf lurked forever at the edges of his mind, the wizard's gentle acceptance of this hidden part of him making him feel even more conflicted. Perhaps it would have been easier to have been shown disapproval, to have his deeper feelings mocked and curtailed as errant and wrong. He could have turned away then, could have repressed whatever hope that now lay within his heart after hearing Gandalf's sanction, his kindness and support.

The door behind him opened suddenly and Aragorn scrambled to grasp at the frame as he nearly fell through, kept on his feet only by dumb luck and the flailing assistance from the maid who had shrieked as he fell into her.

He swore lowly, straightening with what he hoped was a dignified expression as he smoothed out his clothes, trying to ignore her flustered apologies as he swept his gaze around the empty room. His heart plummeting like a stone to see the bed perfectly made, every trace of inhabitancy gone as though swept clean.

"Where is he?" He sputtered, heart hammering as his mind thought the worst, telling himself that no, someone would have some to find him.

"My lord?" The maid had her eyes averted, staring down at the sheets folded in her arms from where she had scooped them from the floor.

"Legolas." He pointed towards the bed for effect, "Where is he?"

The maid shook her head and Aragorn cringed at the way she trembled. "He's gone my lord." She whispered. "Sometime this morning."

Aragorn felt his face pale, his breath frozen in his chest as the maid frowned up at him, her expression one of confusion until she realised that he had misread her words.

"No my lord," she gasped, "He is well, Healer Thackis deemed him well enough to move."

A rush of heady relief poured through him, making him rock backwards on his heels so that the made reached out briefly to lay a hand on his arm, afraid that he would faint. "And where is he now?"

"I am not sure." She shook her head lightly, "I assume that a room would be made up along those which your friends share now." She spoke of the halls where the rest of the fellowship settled; somewhere over the west of the city where the afternoon light lit the gardens long after the sun had set on the lower levels.

Aragorn nodded his thanks, hastily backing out of the doorway and without thought to being caught set about the long and winding paths that led him through this level to the one above, climbing steadily up several stairs and skirting small courtyards until he came at last to the west halls, the sun almost impossibly bright as it edged around the distant clouds and poured its light across the plains that sprawled beneath, the scars of battle still black and raw in the fading dusk.

He heard the dinner bell chime far off in the distance, calling the guards and the officials to the great hall for their evening meal. He wondered idly if they were still looking for him, if they had found the room empty and called out a search, but his musings were cut short, his meandering thoughts screeching to a dead halt as he spied his quarry in the distance.

To say he was beautiful did little justice, his hair loose around his face and shining in the evening sun as though the light were drawn to him, eyes closed and the softest hint of a smile upon his lips. Aragorn felt his breath catch, his hand reaching up to cover his heart as though to cage it in its fervour. How could he be so disarmed? Had he not looked upon him a thousand times before, had he not beheld that face so many times in his dreams? Why now should he be so captivated, so enchanted by the vision set before him?

"I see your youth amongst the elves has learnt you little in the ways of sneaking up unheard." There was mirth in the elf's voice, and a strength that made Aragorn's heart feel light even as he became fixed in the playful gaze that lighted upon him.

"I was not sneaking." He said, sounding petulant and earning himself another smile.

"Then why walk so slow?" Legolas stood straight, arms unfolding to let his hands rest upon the balustrade, perhaps he only imagined the knowing look that flitted across the elf's face.

Aragorn felt the hint of a blush colour his cheeks, looking down suddenly at the flagstones in feigned interest. "I did not wish to startle you." He supplied, knowing even as he looked up that Legolas saw through the untruth, he had never once managed to startle the elf. "I looked for you at the healing houses." He said, covering the silence before he could feel his awkwardness. "The maid there said you were well enough now to leave. This is good news." He stepped closer, leaning with one hip against the wall and balling his fist to stop it from twitching, itching to reach out and brush back the hair that toyed in the breeze around handsome face.

"Yes, we are blessed with fast healing, and it is times like this I can appreciate it most." There was an almost serene look on the elf's face and Aragorn noticed that he had never seen him look so well rested.

He turned to look out over the fields away to the mountains, their snow capped peaks flaming in the dying light. He was aware how close they stood, that the shifting of his weight would make their shoulders brush. He thought of it, of how his body ached to be just a little closer, how the brief moment of shared warmth almost forced his tired mind into action. "When the maid told me you were gone, I feared the worst." Aragorn said lowly, fingers drawing idle patterns upon the stonework. Next to him he felt Legolas turn to look. "I have not been a dutiful friend these past few days; I should not have put my obligations before seeing you well."

His admittance pained him, if only that his deeper meaning would be perceived.

"I understand." Legolas said softly, no trace of bitterness in his simple comprehension.

Aragorn felt a muffled bitter laugh escape him. "You probably do." He flexed his hands, suddenly hating who he was, how from the moment he had stepped into this city he had been leapt upon by its high council, by its generals and aides, every high official who was desperate to replace one leader with another and so blinded and unthinking that they could not go one day without having their decisions made for them. He had seen nothing of his friends, only stilted remarks on their wellbeing when he asked, dismissed as triviality, his heart all but breaking when he received a letter, a letter!, from Pippin asking whether they would see him at the evening meal. What he wouldn't give to just leave these city walls, to walk out into the wilderness as he had done all his life, to live amongst the wildermen and feed from the land, to know his heart unbound and free to do what he will.

He felt a hand curl gently around his own, loosening the grip that turned his knuckles white. "You do too much Aragorn." The admonition was soft in his ear, but he could no longer hear, could no longer feel anything other than that hand that held his, tugging him away from the wall so that they stood facing one another. "You're heart has grown heavier since last we met." There was a sadness in the elf's eyes that Aragorn hated for being there. If only he knew.

He could feel the words building up, had to swallow to keep them down, tucked safely away to remain silent, the effort making his chest ache with a heavy misery.

He tried not to think of the unfairness of it all, to reflect instead on how lucky he was to be standing here, to have Legolas before him, whole and well again, with the fire of the setting sun upon his cheek, making his eyes shine, the wind pulling at the collar of his shirt and tugging at his hair, like spun gold dancing in the breeze. And this time he couldn't help it, couldn't stop himself from reaching up, to capture the unruly strands within his gentle touch and guide them back, finger tips brushing over the point of his ear and he was suddenly aware of how Legolas looked at him, eyes a little wide, but he could not bring himself to move away, to take his hand back or stop his thumb from gently caressing the soft curve of his cheek.

His breath shook him as it left, trapped in this unending moment as he was caught and held within Legolas' questioning gaze, his eyes searching his. There was a moment when Aragorn thought the moment to end, when a hand came up to touch his, the faintest brush of finger tips that echoed the wonderment in the elf's eyes.

With beating heart and rushing blood it seemed to Aragorn as though the world shrank in around them, that all consequence and action was forgotten as he stepped just an inch closer, a bright feeling of elation thrumming through him as he watched that beautiful face turn to press so gently into his touch, dark lashes fluttering and then...

"My lord!" Faramir's voice cut clear across the courtyard.

The sobering rush of reality washed through him as though a doused with a cold flush of water. He stepped back, his hand pulling away with an almost guilty reflex.

He turned to the steward, trying to conceal the murder within his eyes as he drew nearer. "My lord, I became concerned when you did not come to dinner. We still have much to go over." He nodded and bowed once to Legolas, retreating a couple of steps as though to indicate the matter dealt with, waiting for Aragorn to follow. He thought of sending Faramir away, to try and recapture whatever it was that had created such sparks within him, but a quick glance to his right showed that Legolas stared resolutely at the ground.

He wanted to stay, wanted desperately to hold that face within his hand again, to ask what it meant when he had yielded so briefly to his touch. But the moment was lost. Perhaps for always.

He muttered something of a goodbye, was rewarded with a brief nod and a tight smile that Aragorn would no doubt spend hours trying to analyse. With vengeful ire he brushed past Faramir, paying no attention to the other as he rattled off their evening's duties and trying to ignore the way his heart pounded in his chest when he looked back at how Legolas watched him go, his fingers tracing the same path Aragorn's had, the sun finally set beyond the mountains casting his face into shadow.


	7. Chapter 7

Breakfast the next morning was something of an awkward affair, his first appearance in the great hall and despite his joy of being able to sit with those who had come with him so far he felt entirely ill at ease to feel so many eyes upon him. Legolas was notably absent, not that it was unusual, the elf rarely ate and Aragorn knew that whilst he had left the healing houses he'd been told to rest as much as possible. Still, his mood was somewhat soured with the lack of his presence, he could hardly concentrate on Merry's antics and declined to stand and offer a toast to the new day when pointed out that it was custom. Aragorn could tell there were a lot of traditions that might come to an end under his rule.

His discomfort was reasonably short lived, rising after eating quickly, but even so he was saddened to leave his friends for the first of his duties that morning, walking alone and morosely along echoing halls, pulling at the tightness of his collar and not thinking of carefree days when riding out to hunt.

He hadn't slept at all, the sheets on his bed too heavy and stifling, twisting and turning throughout the night with his eyes pressed firmly shut, trying to think of the most menial and tedious of tasks to try and bore himself to sleep. A futile endeavour that ultimately led him to flinging the covers aside and pacing the length of his chambers, tired and frustrated and angry with himself. His visions haunted with pale skin and golden hair, of how it felt wrapped around his fingers, of the silken warmth of skin beneath his touch.

It was an exquisite torture, to close his eyes and imagine what it would be like to capture those perfect lips, to taste him, to run his hand beneath his shirt and have him arch up into his touch. What would it be like to feel him move beneath him, Aragorn's name whispered from his lips as he threaded his fingers through satin hair, pressing him down into the soft covers of his bed...

He pulled himself up short, a sharp noise of exasperation exploding forth when he realised he'd been walking these last few steps with eyes closed, his path wavering as he wondered blind in the corridor.

"You're a fool." He muttered under his breath, pushing back his hair with a ragged sigh. He shook his head, dispelling his lingering thoughts and pushed open the door to the council chamber, willing himself to muster the enthusiasm expected from him as they drew up plans for the forth coming celebrations, something he looked forward to less and less as the days crept by.

He stopped in the doorway, body rigid with a static shock as he looked across the dim and dusty room at its occupants, three sets of eyes drawn towards his entrance. Aragorn paused, blinking rapidly as though to banish some phantom spectre from his vision, but no, it truly was Legolas who sat at the table, Gandalf leaning over his shoulder with Faramir beside him, their hands holding down the curling pages of street maps and plans of the city.

"My Lord." Faramir shot to his feet, hand automatically raised to his chest as he gave a curt bow, apparently a little flustered. "We had not expected you for a little while yet, we thought you dined with your friends."

He felt somewhat lost and bereft, standing idle in the doorway until he realised that Faramir looked at him as though he'd asked a question, and not just delivered a statement. "I am...that is, I was." He clamped his mouth shut, swallowing past the sudden dryness and trying to remind himself that he should think before he speak, lest he come off looking even more a fool.

He swung the door shut behind him, the sharp sound of it latching echoing around the room with unbearable loudness.

He approached the table with the same sort of unease one felt when they were sure some nasty surprise were just around the corner. "I would not have expected to find you here." He put out mildly, his gaze sweeping between both elf and wizard, watching them both as Legolas smiled warmly and Gandalf eyed him with a keenly knowing look that made his skin prickle beneath his clothes.

"They were good enough to assist me on some more personal matters regarding your coronation," Faramir explained, still standing and moving around the table so as to pull out the chair he usually sat in. "and His Grace advised that he has much experience in the traditions of these events."

Aragorn paused in the motion of lowering himself into the chair, his hands gripping the rests as he shot an amused look across the table. "His Grace?" he felt a smirk threatening to pull at his lips as he finally came to rest, noting the hint of a blush on the pale face before him.

"I've asked him not to." Legolas said, a hint of a sigh creeping in at the edge of his voice, telling of the countless attempts to persuade his ever decorous steward into addressing him as anything other than what was proper in a royal court.

Aragorn struggled to smother the grin that threatened to spread across his face at the elf's discomfort. "Indeed, it has been so long since I've heard you addressed properly that I had all but forgotten you were a Prince." He bit at his lip to keep from smirking as he received a dark look, the laughter in his eyes perhaps the only thing that spared him a scathing remark too. He was all too aware Legolas was also someone who looked forward to throwing off the shackles of his station, to be able to do as he please and without the burden of his people watching.

Both of them caught in a net neither of them had ever cast.

Except the elf had a thousand years experience on him.

Aragorn frowned at his muddied thoughts. How easy it was for him now to become so dismayed.

"Lord Elrond sent ahead a messenger to advise that their retinue should hope to arrive two days from now." Two envelopes were placed in front of him, their handwriting familiar on each address and it was only because the steward hovered beside him with an expectant air that he took them, his stomach filled with lead and aching with a dread misery that made his heart quicken.

"The plans are coming along then?" He said with false cheer, fingering the crisp edges of the letters as he forced his attention on the street plans.

He could see the subtle hint of a frown that marred the elf's brow, and the penetrating stare of the wizard, the slight change in the air as they looked at one another. But Aragorn ignored all this, to look at them now would be to acknowledge the crippling, all consuming doubt that had filled his every waking moment. So instead he leaned forwards, dragging forth a sheaf of papers to let his hands wander over, immensely glad of Faramir who remained oblivious to his discomfort as he pulled up a chair beside him, his soft voice low in the dimness of the room and he went over their plans so far.

He listened at length, feigning interest in the smallest of details, of the colour of his robes to where each member of his court council would stand. He was glad of the other's input at least, their pursuit of more personal ideals stopping the whole charade from becoming one long tribute to a land and ideals that he had never known or stood for. He was grateful for Gandalf's insistence that he should be the one to crown him, could think of no one better to honour him in such a way. And Legolas was remarkably diplomatic in his heavily veiled demands that Aragorn's unique history with the elves of Rivendell be honoured; after all, it was his foster father's skill of foresight and unerring duty towards raising him that had led him to walking the path into the white city.

It was a sweet agony to be sitting there, his body tight with the strain he forced upon himself to stop his eyes from being fixed on the figure before him, to keep from letting his head fall back to better let his voice wash over him, he could feel the heat of Gandalf's gaze as it rested on his shoulders, a physical weight as it prompted him to make an approving noise, or remark upon the current subject. Like a warden looking after his charge. He could not meet that stare, could not make himself face whatever piteous emotion he might read behind the cool grey eyes as he did everything possible to avoid looking directly at the object of his affections, to keep his hands away for fear that their touch as papers passed between them would set him aflame.

He wanted to run, wanted to fling the papers aside, scattering them to the wind and upending the table. He wanted to cast the curtains open, to let the light and the breeze breach their dusty little room lest the air grow to thick and suffocate him, his skin flushed beneath his collar no matter how many times he tugged at it, a faint prickling running along his skin that had always foretold him of approaching danger, an instinct he had long ago associated with the need to run.

The letters were still placed upon the table beside him, the unopened seals calling to him like a macabre sirens song, his hand creeping out to trace the edge of the wax, trying to discern the subject through divination. His hand shook faintly as he drew one before him, his finger sliding beneath the edge and cracking the seal, it's pieces falling into his lap in a shower of red shards, slowly unfolding the thick creamy parchment to reveal the delicate lettering that had once filled his heart with such love and hope, but which now caused a shiver to run up his spine, his mind almost unable to make out the words as though trying to fool him into making the meaning of the letter something wholly different. He felt his face pale, his mouth dry as his heart hammered in his throat, swallowing thickly around the sudden burst of adrenaline that made his eyes water.

"Estel?" he was ripped from his reverie so suddenly that he felt his whole body start, his fingers clamping around the letter in his hands. He dared to look up, to meet the concerned gaze that fixed him to the spot. "Are you well?" Legolas had paused in his speech, whatever list they had been discussing held lightly in his hands as he held him in open regard, eyes wide and anxious at his sudden grave silence.

His heart was in his throat, the words of the letter scrolling through his mind.

"Father has given his blessing that we should be married on the day you take your crown."

He tried to speak, to nod or shake his head, to do anything that would dispel the apprehension in that beloved face.

"My heart sings with joy that after these long years I shall have the grace to call you Husband."

He folded the letter carefully, trying to still his trembling hands.

"Aragorn?"

"Estel?"

"My Lord?"

They spoke as one as he stood, his sudden movement causing the chair to scrape across the floor, the screech of wood on stone jarring at his nerves.

"I need..." He stuttered, unsure of his words or how to stop his head from spinning. "If you'll excuse me."

The others were standing now, Faramir's curt bow stiff and awkward, unsure of how to act in the face of Aragorn's odd behaviour. Legolas had stood too quickly, and Aragorn felt himself tense at the brief flash of pain that lanced across his face, one pale hand flinching as it came suddenly to rest over the newly formed scar. Aragorn blanched, he wanted to shout out, to vault the table and be the one to steady him, to hold his arm as Gandalf did as he swayed for one infinitesimal moment, to sooth the hurt that dulled his eyes.

Instead he backed away, nearly stumbling over the chair behind him as he turned and reached blindly for the handle of the door, wrenching it open and releasing himself into the warmth of the midday sun that streamed into the corridor through high vaulted windows, it's light dancing across the floor in colours and shapes that made him dizzy as he tried to calm himself, trying not to run.

The letter fell numbly from his finger tips, dropping to the floor unnoticed as he burst forth from the hallway into the blinding summer's day, his footsteps taking him past the submissive guards that stood unmoving and silent, past the still pool and the white tree, down unnumbered steps and far along to where he forced to stop, his hands braced against the wall as he crashed into it, his breath leaving his body in a pained rush.

He stood unseeing, feeling the weights and chains press down around him, tying him down, unable to move. He felt choked, unable to breathe as he looked down over the dizzying height, losing himself in the faraway detail of busy life below, watching with a detachment to the people hanging garlands and bunting across the streets.

He buried his face in his hands, tugging roughly at his hair, his pain and desperation welling up inside him as he suppressed his groan of frustration, instead he breathed slowly, forcing himself to calm as he heard his name called, footsteps light on the flagstones as he turned to face who approached him.


	8. Chapter 8

"Please, do not come closer." Even Aragorn cringed to hear the pain in his voice, his hand outstretched in the vain hope that Legolas would listen to him, would turn from him and leave him un-tortured by his presence. But he knew it was a foolish hope.

The elf approached him with a trepidation that made the sickly guilt in Aragorn's chest rise up and choke him anew, the letter he had dropped held carefully in elegant hands. "Estel, what is it?" He brushed aside the arm that would hold him at bay, coming to stand close enough that Aragorn could almost feel the heat of his presence, one hand coming to rest on his arm, fingers encircling him like a fiery brand that he could not quite bring himself to shrug off. "You are not yourself." The elf stated, though not in consternation but with a concern that sought to bite at Aragorn's resolve.

Aragorn shook his head, his eyes fixing on pointless details so they did not become ensnared in that captivating gaze. "The room was too warm," he gasped, "I felt flushed, nothing more."

The lie was easy to see through, he knew that...knew it all the more as the hand that had sought him purchase fell away, unfolding the letter in slow, sure movements that would have given Aragorn plenty of time to reach out and snatch it away if he could, if he'd had the strength or resolve to deny Legolas any action.

He held his breath with the air of awaiting judgement as Legolas read the lines upon the page, trying furiously and failing to think of a way to explain himself, to provide answers as to why he had bolted from the room as though scolded.

The silence was long and baited, until at length the letter was folded once, an odd pause before Legolas spoke. "Joyous news." He said quietly, his eyes still on the paper in his hands, "It must be such happiness that fills your heart to know that your betrothal shall be complete." He raised his face to meet his gaze.

Aragorn said nothing, could not find the words to fill his mouth. He could not bring himself to wield an untruth, to lie brazenly to the one who had always spoken to him clearly. If he could not say the truth, he would say nothing at all.

"Surely it is not this from which you run?"

Aragorn turned away from the puzzled gaze, releasing a sigh that seemed to release all fight from him. "Please leave." He whispered, not doubting for a moment that Legolas would hear him.

"Aragorn, please...tell me what doubt it is that haunts you?" there was a light touch upon his shoulder, golden hair tumbling into view as Legolas leaned in close to better see his face.

"I cannot say." He ground out, pressing his eyes close against the temptation to look upon his flawless face.

"Why?" the plea was soft, patient, nearly lost on the wind that eddied around them.

Aragorn sighed, a short and hopeless sound that bordered on a sob. "It would bring me shame to speak the words."

Legolas waited, the silence stretching out between them. "I have always been your friend, have I not?" He asked plainly, allowing time to pass before Aragorn nodded. "I have held your counsel in times gone by and have never judged you for your actions. You are an honourable man Estel, I cannot think of what it is that you could not tell me now." He gripped lightly against Aragorn's shoulder. "You have grown wearier under whatever it is that burdens you."

"You would think less of me." Aragorn muttered, opening his eyes but looking away to the far off mountains, to a sky so blue it was hard to imagine that it was once covered with an endless night.

"I could never think less of you." Legolas spoke with such quiet conviction that Aragorn could almost believe it. But what could it matter, when their lives would soon become so separate. No longer would he be a ranger, to come and go as he pleased, to walk with welcome into the forest king's hall and spend the summers beneath the trees. Their lands were far apart, a month of travel between them, and not idly would they meet each other again.

"I wish now that I had not walked this path." He said quietly. "I wish Lord Elrond had never seen what I would become."

"You will be a great King."

Aragorn shook his head and said nothing.

"Estel." The hand on his shoulder turned him, making him stand to face the elf. "I have never once thought that the path laid out before you was the wrong one." He told him, a gentle smile upon his face. "You will rule these people with a kind heart, and they will love you."

"I do not want their love." He ground out, frustration edging his words with colour.

"Then tell me what it is you want?" Legolas dropped his arm, folding them across his chest in a manner he had always adopted when Aragorn knew he was being tiresome.

"I don't know what I want." Aragorn turned back to the wall, hands braced upon the edge as he leaned into them.

"Then what is it you don't want?" Legolas always knew his way through the channels of Aragorn's mind.

Aragorn sighed, dropping his head to slump between tired shoulders, his hair obscuring his face. "I don't want this," He said lowly, all his pain and hurt dripping from the words. "I feel trapped...obligated." His fingers curled into fists, scraping across the stonework. "To be looked upon like some conquering hero and saviour, to be placed upon such a pedestal that I am thought of as the hope of men! They talk as though I am not there, planning and building my rule, shaping me to their ideals. I do not want this." His breath caught in his throat and he turned away, his back to the elf as his schooled his features back from twisted annoyance. "They make me into something more than I am, some saving grace from lands afar to rescue them from the dark days and rule over them with benediction, they want me to be perfect, to say nothing wrong, to lead the perfect life with the perfect wife." His voice broke and he feared suddenly that he had said too much, could feel the point between his shoulders where Legolas' eyes rested on him.

"Aragorn?" There was a familiar weight to the elf's voice, one that held no regard for half truths, that had always been used to make him speak clearly, to make him confess whatever contrived sin he thought he had committed when Legolas already knew what transgression had transpired. It was just the same this time, he knew the moment his resolve had failed on that one heated word that the elf would narrow in on it, would press him in his gentle yet demanding way to reveal the truth.

"I do not wish to marry Arwen." He whispered, feeling something of his heart twist and gnaw within his chest at the shame his confession cost him, saying out loud for the first time the words he had feared to say.

There was silence behind him, and whether it was because Legolas waited for him to expand upon the truth or whether he had shocked him beyond words he could not tell, either way he could not yet bring himself to turn and face him, to see whatever judgment would be held in the watchful gaze.

"You do not love her?" He was asked matter of factly, the voice that reached his ears holding no rancour, betrayed no emotion at all.

Aragorn shook his head, unable to say the word that would damn him, each breath clogging in his lungs.

He waited patiently for the next question, to be asked to explain himself or be convinced that he was wrong, that he did love her and that seeing her again would bring him joy rather than the dread anticipation he felt. He leant heavily on the wall, staring down at the stone beneath his feet, at the cracked and weathered surface bleached by the sun.

"What will you say to her?"

Aragorn frowned. He had not expected that.

"What will I say?" he repeated, turning on the spot to fix Legolas with a bemused look. The elf stood unmoving before him, an odd closed look upon his face that seemed out of place. "I will say nothing." He whispered. For what could he really do?

"You'll not tell her?" Legolas seemed to recoil a little, something heated and defensive lending a hard edge to his demand.

"I could not hurt her." Aragorn answered. "I still love her enough not to hurt her in this way."

Legolas shook his head. "You will lie?"

"It is not truly a lie." He said dully. "I still feel for her what I did. I just know now that it is not..." He stopped himself before he could finish, but Legolas was not one for half answers.

"Not what? Enough?"

"True." Aragorn replied, vehemence in his countenance. He could feel his heart racing, feeling weak at having admitted out loud what had dogged him so heavily, to release the mantle of secrecy from his shoulders made him feel no lighter, in fact it made him feel much worse, as though a hollow sucking wound pulled at him stomach, making him want to retch and heave as his own shame threatened to devour him. He felt angry, the fire of injustice still burning in is veins.

"Aragorn." Legolas laughed, but it was not one of merriment, rather a nervous anxiousness had lent him a somewhat stricken look. "This cannot be true?"

He felt the words die in his mouth as Legolas turned from him, one hand raised to rub at his brow, sweeping the hair from his face as the wind gusted across the stone pinnacle.

"Arwen loves you." He said as he rounded on him, a despondent look drawing his face tight. "And you love her, this has always been truth, you wear her..." His voice died away as he looked to Aragorn's throat, noticing now that he did not wear the Evenstar. "What happened?" he looked searchingly at Aragorn. "When we left Rivendell..."

"I had sought to release her from her vow." Aragorn interrupted. "I thought it best for her, should I not come back."

"Then why seek to break it now when all is won?" Legolas spoke with fervour, his voice rising in a way that unnerved him. "What has changed?" A sharp gasp and a pained look and Aragorn had closed the distance between them, holding fast to shoulders that shook as the elf breathed, eyes pressed shut.

"We should go back, you should be resting." He could not hide the worry in his voice but Legolas shook his head.

"I am fine." He said, despite the tightness around his eyes.

"You are not."Aragorn insisted, his hands held fast as though he feared the elf might faint. "Come, you should not be concerning yourself with my troubles when you are not yet recovered yourself."

"I have strength enough for this." He all but snapped, reaching up to brush away Aragorn's worried hold. "Answer me."

"Please, do not worry yourself."

"My worry Aragorn is that you are not yourself." Legolas straightened, his breath unsteady. "You say such things but do not give me reason."

"They are passing concerns." Aragorn brushed the thought aside. "I have felt under pressure as of late." He tried to sound convincing, if only so that Legolas would believe him and consent to rest, but his concern must have betrayed his deception.

"Why won't you tell me?" He sounded almost hurt, a sad betrayal burning in his eyes.

"Please, Legolas," He reached to touch his shoulder, but he was stopped with a cool touch. He dropped his hand, sighing. He shook his head, "I want to."

"Then why don't you."

"I can't!" Aragorn stepped back, hand coming up to run though his hair.

"Why not?"

"Please don't." Aragorn turned away again, if only so he didn't have to look at the bewilderment that shone in the elf's eyes.

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Legolas..." he warned feebly.

"What happened Aragorn? Something has changed, I can see it in you."

Aragorn pressed the heel of his palms against his eyes, pressing until he saw spots of colour. His mind was foggy, white around the edges as he tried to keep an even breath, his heart hammering in his chest, like a caged bird desperate to take flight, suddenly released as he felt the light touch beneath his chin, cool fingers bringing his face up as his name was whispered with such love and concern that he felt the dam burst, the waters of his self doubt flooding through him and washing away as he opened his eyes and was met with the sight of such beauty that his heart wept, the words falling from his lips before he could have any chance at capturing them, of holding them back, whispered on the wind for only one to hear. "I love you."


	9. Chapter 9

There was a terrible moment where all time seemed to stand still, when the world folded in on itself, crumpled and coalescing into this one heated moment, and it seemed to Aragorn that it went on for an entire age if the earth, caught in the endless blue of the elf's eyes as he held his gaze, fingertips still pressed beneath his jaw as they stood together, the wind gusting in one long endless stream that lifted golden hair to swim and flow within his vision, neither one of them blinking or reaching up to tame it.

And then it all fell apart.

The burning touch fell away from his skin as Legolas stepped back, his breath shallow as he held his hand to his chest. "What?" eyes wide with disbelief, as though perhaps he had misheard, although they both knew the truth.

Aragorn felt his heart ache with the cavernous distance between them, like a rope around his heart pulled taut as the elf moved further away, threatening to rend it from his chest to land still beating on the cold stone floor.

"Forgive me." He whispered, the words tasting like ash on his tongue. "I have spoken out of turn, I should not have..." his voice died away, unable to bring himself to take it back now that he had said it.

He chanced to look up, finding that Legolas stared furiously at the floor, a faint blush marring his cheeks, although from anger or embarrassment Aragorn did not know.

They stood in silence, the only sound between them was the noise the wind made as it sought out and whistled through the cracks and holes on the stonework, lending an eerie chill to the air despite the subtle summer heat.

"The road that we took here was a long one." Legolas said at length, shattering the quiet with his muted voice. "The demands made upon you were greater than any others."

Aragorn frowned as he looked up, trying to make out what it was he said until he realised with a chilling horror that he was giving Aragorn his excuse, a believable lie that he could grasp at to take back his words, to pretend that nothing he had said was true. His heart sank, cold and shrivelled like a flower blooming too early, coming to light only to be covered with winter's frost.

"Don't do that." He muttered, drawing the disarmingly blue gaze to his.

Aragorn felt himself deflate, his breath released in a ragged sigh. "Don't offer me excuses. I've already thought of all of them." He said weakly.

He watched detached as Legolas stepped back to lean against the wall, his face turning away to look unseeing over the expansive view, his face almost ashen now the colour had left him. "You are mistaken." He said quietly, although whether it was a question or a statement Aragorn could not tell.

"I wish that I was." He shook his head lightly, damning himself for the foolish hope that it could have turned out any different than this.

"I don't..." Legolas frowned suddenly, shaking his head so that his hair fell forward around his shoulders, like the golden rays of the sun becoming his mantle. "When did you..." he could not seem to find the right question, fleeting glimpses of myriad emotion passing briefly across his face before he turned on Aragorn once more, his eyes demanding answers he knew he shouldn't give.

Aragorn held his hand to his chest, fingers grasping at his shirt as he fisted it, pressing tight to the feel of his heart pounding beneath his ribs. "I have never known a pain and fear greater than I did the moment I thought you dead." He whispered, knowing that it was not enough. He felt his chest grow tight, his voice constricted around the words as he spoke them, fighting with himself to keep his gaze steady, to not look away from the eyes that held his. If he could only say this once, he would say it with truth and conviction and pride knowing that he had held his own. "There was no more light, no more joy in my world knowing that I would never hear your voice again, that I would never see you smile." He breathed in, lungs shaking and burning under the pressure. "I would have given everything that was mine to give to see you safe again, to trade in my life for yours as is right, for how could I live when you did not."

Legolas dropped his gaze. "I don't understand." He said softly, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck in a gesture so unlike him, so human, that it made some unnamed emotion flare brightly in Aragorn's heart, the elf's sudden vulnerability as he stood before him humbling him more that any speech he could ever make.

"It is not for you to understand." He said simply. "You asked me a question, and I answered."

Legolas brought his face up to meet Aragorn's resigned gaze, arms around himself as though to hold on to whatever it was that caused the confliction that marred his brow.

"I held no thought of hope, and I say it now only because you ask, because I have never been able to hold anything from you."

"How long?" Legolas asked, the lingering edges of doubt fading from his voice.

Aragorn almost smiled, thinking back to how Gandalf had asked him the same, how he had struggled against revealing himself. But he couldn't do that now, could no longer lie to the other man than he could to himself. "Always."

It was as though something broke in the elf's resolve, a momentary pain that flickered in his eyes, the sheen of tears suddenly making them brighter but Aragorn could not tell if it was the winds chill or pity that caused them.

Slowly Legolas straightened, hands moving to rub circles around each wrist in a clearly nervous gesture, making Aragorn feel even worse for having inflicted this betrayal of their friendship upon them. "I should go." The words were whispered quietly, barely heard, but Aragorn felt them like a hammer to his heart, his knees nearly buckling under the weight of his futility, reaching out on instinct as the elf made to pass him.

"Legolas, please..."

"Don't." They both froze, Aragorn's hand flinching away as though burned by the fire in the Elf's eyes. He wanted nothing more than to stop him from leaving, to hold into him and keep him within the circle of his arms, to press his cheek atop his head and marvel at the silken touch of hair to his skin. He wanted to shout and scream at the sky and damn all the gods that sought to make his life a misery. But all he could do was drop his hand, let his gaze fall away and try not to think of just how badly it hurt to hear the footsteps fade.

He did not return to the darkened room where he knew Gandalf and Faramir waited for him, nor did he have the desire to walk the city streets, to lose himself in the twists and turns that he had slowly come to recognise. Instead he stood alone at the wall, picking up the letter that had been discarded, whose carefully scripted words had caused all this, leaning heavily on the balustrade as he slowly tore off strips, letting them flutter in his grasp before releasing them one by one into the wind to be carried far outside the city walls, to dance high upon the wind and land somewhere amongst the grass and flowers beyond his sight.

Never had he felt more wretched and alone and he was unsurprised to feel the biting chill of tears upon his cheeks, falling unreserved as the cold, clammy thrill of misery crept into every pore of his being, dampening every breath he took until it felt as though he were drowning.

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Hours had passed by the time Gandalf came out to stand beside him, the sun having passed overhead in a wide arc and now cast the shadow of his city across the plains before him.

He knew by the way the wizard stood silently by his side that he was the reason no other had come to bother him, kept at bay by stern words and idle threats. Aragorn was glad of him, to have had the time to simply let his mind wander as it would, without having to try and repress his thoughts.

"I told him." He said lowly, his voice even as he looked out across the fields.

Beside him there was a shuffle of robes and he saw from the corner of his eye when the other joined him in resting against the balustrade. "I had guessed that perhaps you might."

Aragorn repressed a bitter smile, there would never be a time he'd be able to surprise the wizard.

"He left." He countered dully, and saw the nod of understanding at his side. There was no response, and so they stood like that for a little while, watching the birds in flight as they flocked together and spun apart, likes leaves on the breeze, their gentle song carried to them on the wind that ruffled their hair, seeking out the gaps in their clothes to remind them that night was drawing near.

"It's not always an easy thing to be told." Gandalf said quietly, the gravel of his voice catching Aragorn's attention. "Not to one who has had very little say in the way they live their life." Aragorn turned to look at him then, noticing the wry smile that Gandalf gave him. "The elves of Imladris are much different to those from the forests, they consider themselves more enlightened, more cultured, but that is easy enough to say when sheltered in their hidden valley. The elves of Mirkwood are fighters, warriors, closer to the race of men in their ways than many would dare admit, they have more spirit in them and a greater desire to experience life for themselves than read about it in books.'

'You've no doubt seen this yourself, but what you might not see is that they are more political than you might think. Thranduil was once obsessed with allies, when the dark shadows first threatened the Greenwood he made ally of dwarves and elves and men, with gold, with jewels, his army...and his son." Gandalf paused, taking the time for it to sink in until Aragorn turned his head to face him, eyes wide.

"You mean...?"

"That Legolas was once betrothed." Gandalf finished for him. "It is of no consequence now. She was a lady of Lorien, and it was every inch a political match. They held no true affection for each other but he did care for her in his way, something borne of pity I expect, or mutual resignation, and they did become friends. He took it particularly hard when she was taken, held for days and killed before they were married." He finished sadly.

Aragorn continued to stare at him, brow furrowed as he questioned why he had never known this.

"His father dictates his life, both as a parent and as his King, and whilst Legolas loves him dearly he is also reconciled to knowing that even in matters so free for others he is not entirely in control. His alliances are studied and judged; even your friendship with him must come at his father's approval." Aragorn snorted, biting his tongue to keep from making a snide and unbecoming remark, Gandalf eyed him sternly. "To be born as one of the first folk is not necessarily to be born free."

Aragorn shook his head, looking back out over the snow capped mountains, his reflection on how trapped he felt and wondering what it might be like to live every day of your life feeling so. "They are naturally reserved anyways." Gandalf added glibly, seemingly as a side note, as though to negate all he'd just said.

He felt a touch to his arm, drawing his eye first to the wrinkled hand then to the cool grey eyes that seemed so much darker with the sun setting behind them. "He might have walked away, but he did not leave." Gandalf said quietly, soft and sympathetic and holding a note of encouragement that made Aragorn's chest twinge with an unexpected hope as the wizard offered him a small smile.

Aragorn nodded, understanding seeping into him with a warmth that seemed to chase away the itching dread that had dug underneath his skin. He had forgotten to put himself in the others place, to think what it must be like to have such a confession given without knowing just how to respond. He wondered whether the elf felt betrayed, that Aragorn had kept from him something with such weight and purpose that he would look back upon all their encounters and wonder at the nature of it. He smirked even as he thought it, unable to even consider for a moment that Legolas would be anything other than graceful, would no doubt offer his forgiveness and tell him to pay no further thought to it. He was nothing if not the most generous, most kind presence he had ever had the grace to stand in, an honour to call him friend and companion, and if he gave just the smallest of chances for Aragorn to keep it that way between them then he would count himself lucky.

He stood straight, face lax with indolent acknowledgment, thanking the wizard kindly for his company, the subject dealt with and over now by silent agreement, no more of it spoken as they walked back into the halls together, the promise of an evening spent with just his thoughts both appealing and terrifying in equal measure.


	10. Chapter 10

He sat at the table, food untouched as he watched the page clear away his meal, his distant focus on the young man's actions causing the dishes to rattle and shake in his hands.

"Once you are done, you may finish for the night." Aragorn muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose to alleviate the growing tension that caused his head to ache. The page stood a little awkwardly, not quite sure he could believe his luck but not wishing to question Aragorn's sincerity. Instead, he bowed quickly, piling up the remaining plates and eyeing up the uneaten meal as he balanced a cup beneath his chin.

His retreat to his rooms was neither surprising nor unexpected, meeting no opposition as he had walked with Gandalf through the corridors, his tiff and awkward gait telling of a troubled mind that none were willing to interfere with, the wizards carefully guarded stare warding away suspicious looks and curious glances leaving passing maids and officials to whisper as they had passed.

They had let him be, able to pace back and forth in his own company, counting the steps between one side of the room and the other, pausing every now and then when a particularly troublesome thought came to surface. Night had fallen swiftly, its shadows chased away by the candles he'd lit only so that the boy could see where he was going so as not to spill and trip as he had come on behalf of Gandalf, anticipating that he would not be present in the hall that evening.

They were both startled by a knock at the door and Aragorn held back a growl of frustration, images of one of Faramir's aides stood behind the door, arms laden with more papers and documents for him to sign. He briefly wondered if he could pretend he wasn't there, thoughts of hiding behind the drapes crossing his mind. But his page was quicker than his thoughts and he had already crossed the distance between table and door before Aragorn could think to stop him, perfectly balancing his load and opening the heavy door with a graceful movement borne from years of service.

He gritted his teeth, momentarily glad he didn't know the young man's name so as to spare him the sharp reprimand that sat on the tip of his tongue.

Words were lost to him a moment later, his heart suddenly in his throat when he saw Legolas, his entire countenance radiating discomfort. The air changed suddenly. Becoming thick and tense, almost tangible as they both stood frozen. Eventually Aragorn noticed the page, his arm shaking from the weight of the dishes piled up against him and he gestured him to leave, relieving him of his duty and the awkward silence that he had been forced to endure.

Legolas stepped into the room to allow him to pass, watching the door pulling shut behind him to settle in the jamb with a resounding note of finality, the perfect counterpoint to the silence the seemed to echo so loudly it was almost deafening.

Aragorn swallowed, the blood rushing in his ears and his entire body throbbing with the beat of his heart. He cleared his throat, if only to end the exhausting tension that gnawed at his resolve.

"I confess, I did not think to see you again today." He murmured quietly, scuffing his knuckles awkwardly across the newly cleared table, watching the flickering shadows cast from the candle's light curl around his fingers. There was no point in dancing around the issue, to pretend that he was here for any other reason than his ill timed confession was pure idiocy.

"I came to apologise." Legolas said softly, an odd timbre to his voice that Aragorn had never heard before.

"Apologise?" He breathed, brow knitting together with confusion, "What possible reason could you have to apologize?"

Legolas paused, a deep breath drawn in between his lips that caused a moments pain to dull his eyes. "I should not have walked away." He said softly, "I was...caught off guard." He was looking at his own hands, fingers laced together in front of him.

"You should not apologise for my transgression Legolas." Aragorn said wearily, guilt assuaging him at having reduced such preternatural grace to lowered gazes and muted words.

"You would call it transgression?" The elf slowly raised his eyes to meet Aragorn's, the firelight softening the tired lines of his face. It was clear he had spent the day just as he had, walking back and forth with only one sided conversations and nerve-wracking indecision of what they would say to each other when next they met occupying their minds. Only he was braver by far, to come to his room uncalled and seek him out showed a nerve that Aragorn could only hope to possess.

"What else should I call it?" Aragorn asked.

"From yourself, I would call it truth." Legolas held his gaze as though asking him to deny it. He stood a little straighter before him, chin raised as though in defiance, but Aragorn could not read what it was that caused the slight pause in his breath, the tremble of his hands as they balled into fists at his sides. He stood unwavering for a moment until something flickered in his eyes, his shoulders dropping as he sighed. "Why...?" his gaze swept away, "Why have you never said?" despondency colouring his words and Aragorn was unsure whether he could ever answer such a question.

His throat was dry, his hands itching for a way to occupy themselves as he stood immobile. He could barely breathe, each shallow breath holding little air. He felt sick, hot desperation clawing at his chest, the hollow ache of futility throbbing in his veins as he whispered, "Would it have mattered?"

Legolas turned from him, one hand resting on his hip, the other raised to run across his tired face. Aragorn bit at his lip, unused to seeing the elf so disarmed. He'd never seen him lost for words before, had never known him unable to think of just the right thing to say. Aragorn began to wonder just how terribly he may have hurt their friendship, how he could possibly make this right again when he was thrown by the soft and pained utterance of a single word. "Yes."

The space between his heartbeats seemed to grow, a painful sickening lurch as he wondered whether he'd heard him at all, stood as he was with his face in profile, his hand still raised as though to shield himself from Aragorn's gaze.

He chanced taking a step closer, his legs barely able to move in the wake of his crippling uncertainty, an abortive gesture as he made to reach out but unable to quite find the strength in his trembling limbs, the request for him to repeat himself dying on his lips as Legolas lowered his hand to his chest instead, palm flat as though to seek out the measure of his own heart as he turned to Aragorn with eyes full of such sorrow that he would rip out his own tongue for being the one to speak the words that put it there.

"Legolas...?" the name left his lips as a barely breathed wonder, a reverential prayer at being in the presence of such agonising beauty. He longed to reach out, to hold his face in his trembling hands, afraid to touch lest he break. But he stood silent, the first stirring of an undeserved hope rising in his chest as he watched Legolas shake his head, not in denial but in the manner of despair.

"Aragorn..." even his voice was wondrous in his dismay, soft and low and spoken only for him, his name barely reaching the distance between them. The hand that pressed to his chest twisted in his shirt, holding fast to the silken cloth as he seemed unable to breath. "If you had only..." he stopped, eyes shut as though to close himself off.

"Only what?" Aragorn did not try to hide the tremor in his voice, the warmth of the room seeming to cling to him as he watched with held breath, held captive by the vision before him and the heady rush of unrepentant desire in his veins.

Legolas seemed to collect himself, the grip on his own shirt not quite so tight as he opened his eyes, looking up and meeting Aragorn's hopeful gaze with a wary determination. "I have known, for many years that I ...care, for you...so much more than I should." He whispered, eyes never once wavering. "I had never thought, that you would..." he stopped to breathe, unable to finish, a shaking breath that caused Aragorn's heart to ache despite the sudden white hot rush of overwhelming adrenaline that coursed through him.

It could not be true.

He felt almost faint, the thunderous rush blood in his ears deafening him, his body both wonderfully alive and stricken at the same time, unable to move as though the smallest of gestures might break the fragility of this moment. Surely he could not be saying what he thought he meant, surely Aragorn could not count himself so lucky. And yet, here they stood, an arm's length from each other, unable to look away as they held each other in open, honest, unbelieving regard, and the terrible knowledge that they had walked the same path together for so long made despondent tears spring in his eyes. "Legolas?" He stepped forward, heart in his throat as his hand reached up of its own accord to hover, just a hairs breadth from the beloved face, pausing as though he were in a dream, and to touch him would be to wake from it.

But it was no dream, and when he touched his heart soared as those eyes closed before him, dark lashes falling upon pale skin as he turned his cheek into Aragorn's trembling hand, the soft sigh parting from sweet lips to breathe warmly against his skin, making him shiver and ache with terrible longing.

It lasted only a moment, and then Legolas drew back, pulling away from his touch with pain in his eyes. "No." He breathed, misery in his voice. "It cannot be." He did not look up at him, had fixed his gaze instead at his throat where he knew the Evenstar would rest if he were wearing it.

He made to step away but Aragorn was quick, fuelled by a sudden panic at his refusal, his hand reaching out to snatch at his wrist, holding him and stopping him from retreating. "Why?" He whispered, unable to say any more lest his fear give him away.

"Why?" Legolas repeated, as though flustered, eyes wide and beseeching. "Aragorn, have you thought of nothing?" he asked.

Aragorn looked down upon that face, mapping every detail as he had done a thousand times. "I have thought only of you." He whispered lowly.

"Then you have failed to see all the reasons I had never thought to tell you myself." Legolas said sadly, his gaze drifting lovingly over Aragorn's face, making his heart thrill and quicken under the darkened stare.

"I know the reasons." He confessed quietly, "But why should they matter." He shifted his grip, loosely holding his wrist so that he could draw his thumb along the inside, noting how the gesture drew the elf's gaze, watching the act with a yearning desire that caused a deep ache to curl in his stomach.

"We do not belong to each other." He said simply, and Aragorn knew it for the truth, desolation creeping into his veins as he understood, that he would soon be crowned, that Legolas would return to his own land, only ever belonging to their people. They were never supposed to be together, perhaps to walk side by side for a time, but they were soon to be parted, and he would fade away and Legolas would sail across the sea, their lives the brief meeting of birds in flight, to fly swiftly together on the wind and part just as suddenly.

He could have screamed, could have torn down the walls around him to defy the uselessness he felt weighing him down, to fight off the misery and cast aside every obstacle that kept them apart, from laws of the land to crowns that wore them down. But ultimately, he knew Legolas was right, and he held back the bitter sting of tears as he reached once again to hold the face he loved so much, bringing them together so that he could rest his forehead against the elf's, trying with all his strength to keep his breath even, to not betray the hurt that threatened to bring him to his knees.

They stood like that, time unending, the room quiet around them to let them simply take their fill of peace, what little they could gather. Aragorn's hands warm in their gentle grip, the smallest of caresses gentling the fire warmed cheek, fighting back the maddening beat of his heart or the way he could feel every tremor that ran through the body he held so lightly, the light breath upon his cheek as they breathed as one. The air seemed to him as though thick with tension, surmountable and charged with his hesitance and indecisiveness, the instinct to break warring with his resolve to be calm. He felt himself move, to turn his head so that the sweet breath would fall upon his lips, hands tightening their grip on instinct.

Any moment now they could be drawn apart, this moment gifted to him lost and only for memory to recall. If he could but study it for a lifetime, the silk beneath his fingers, golden light on pale skin, the beauty of shadow and light holding him captive. His foolish, hopeful bravery as he dared to brush his cheek against his, the held breath that could have meant so many things, or the brush of lashes against his own as eyes fell closed.

The cheek was smooth in his hand, warm and silken to his touch as shaking fingers traced the paths that tears would fall, softly down to hover gently at the corner of that perfect mouth, feeling every breath as he drew it in to his own, further down to the long, pale expanse of his throat, open to his caress, his boldness felt and echoed in the wild thrum of the heart he felt beat beneath his skin.

And courage be damned, for what was courage when he could face a thousand armies but felt fear at the very thought of pressing his lips down upon those that waited for his.

He had never held much thought for the concept of perfection, for the careful balance of euphoria and bliss, for knowing in ones heart that nothing else in the world could matter, not compared to now, to this moment, to the way it felt to finally brush his lips to those that had held his mind enslaved, captured within the confines of their first chaste kiss.

He could scarcely believe it, held his hand all the tighter for fear that it were a dream that would vanish upon waking, his eyes pressed closed as though to hold on to the memory of some idle fantasy. But the heat beneath his touch was true, the pulse that raced beneath his finger tips real, the breath that rushed across his lips alive and warm.

He chanced his eyes to open, to look down into a gaze that was dark and searching, a radiance of longing and fear colouring his eyes.

"Aragorn..." His name upon those lips felt to him like a song sung within his heart, coloured as it was with the emotion that sharpened his stare. But he wanted no words, nothing to break the delicate feel of this moment that already made his heart ache. He kissed him again, pulling them together with a swiftness that caught Legolas off guard, his soft gasp captured and smothered with the gentle possession of Aragorn's kiss. But it was not refusal that had brought his name to the other's lips, nor denial he could feel in the press of his hand against his chest, for he felt the touch he had bestowed upon the other's cheek mirrored on his own, shaking and unsure even as Aragorn drew him closer, dared to let his hand loosen its grip so that it could trace the length of his arm, finger tips circling the slender wrist and eliciting a shiver that made the elf sigh into his touch, their hands coming together to hold fast to one another, an anchor in the furious maelstrom that sought to overcome them.

It was more than perfection, Aragorn agreed, more than every day of rest at the end of a long journey, more than every welcome home he'd ever received, it was so much more than simply knowing that he loved, to have him in his arms, to hold him close and have him yield to every long, slow kiss as though he too had longed these many years to do the same. He was everything he was because of him, because if his love and Aragorn's need to do right by him, his desire to see acceptance and pride in those eyes, to share a bond no other understood. He was the very reason for his living.

And his heart broke for it.


	11. Chapter 11

"Stay with me." Aragorn whispered, "Don't leave." Eyes pressed closed as he pressed his cheek against the elf's, a gentle tremor in his body as warm breath lapped at his throat.

"I cannot." The barely breathed response swimming hotly around his ear as Legolas pulled back, allowing whatever space Aragorn's hold on him could afford, which wasn't much, his arm still fast around slender waist and fingers tangled in his hair. "I should not be here at all. I came only to ease your mind."

"Please." Aragorn's fingers twisted into the shirt at his waist. "I cannot have you leave me now...not now." He brought his hand to hold his face, to make him meet his gaze.

Legolas slowly shook his head, a terrible acceptance in his eyes. "Aragorn, you know this cannot..."

"I know." He quieted the elf, unable to listen to him list the reasons that made him shake and rage with desperation and anger. "I know." He said softly, fingertips drifting to run a trembling caress over petal soft lips, silencing him with his touch before replacing them with the barest graze of his lips, breath held as he fought the war with his own sense and reason. "Tonight." He breathed, "Give us tonight."

He felt the body within his embrace tighten, the hands on his chest move as though to push him away but he held on all the tighter, unable to release him from his arms. "Estel..."

"I ask no more than to have you by my side." He said quickly, reading the hesitance and apprehension in the other man's eyes. He clutched at one of the hands on his chest, holding it fast over his heart so that Legolas could feel just how undone he had become. "If there is any gift that you could give me, let it be this."

The other's gaze was lowered, anxiety and worry creasing his brow as he stared at their hands entwined. "It is not right." He muttered, and even Aragorn could hear that he did not mean it.

Aragorn released his hold, fingers gentle beneath his chin as he brought the shining gaze up to meet his. "We are the ones who decide what is right." He breathed, closing the space between them to kiss him softly just once, waiting for Legolas to push him away, giving him those few seconds to chase away whatever doubts that lay in his mind before he leaned into his touch, melting into Aragorn's kiss with a soft sigh that made his blood run hot through his veins. He gasped, a sheer unadulterated thrill running through him as he felt fingers sliding into his hair, grasping with a fiery need as they pulled together, bodies pressed close, desire dripping through him as they kissed. Aragorn felt his mind go blank, no thought whispering through his ideals that was not pure reverence at being able to taste, to feel, to hold him.

It was achingly perfect, arms reaching up around his neck so that they pressed even closer together, Aragorn's hands on his back, the warmth of the hard body beneath the shirt melting into his touch and he could no longer believe that such a thing could ever be thought of as a sin, not when it made his heart soar, to praise the gods he had been so willing to damn before, to seek sanction and blessing in the depth of his kiss as he walked them in a slow dance to his bed, the edge of it hitting the back of the elf's legs and causing his eyes to flutter open with a wary understanding.

Aragorn smiled gently at the cautious look, his hand reaching up to stroke the flushed cheek before him, almost breathless at his beauty. He leant forward, fingers nimble as they carefully unwound the simple tie that held his hair back, letting it fall from his fingers as he watched the glorious tumble of golden hair fall forward to frame his face. "Beautiful." He whispered, making the blush on the fair cheeks deepen, eyes dark as they looked up at him. He kissed him again, slowly, sweetly. "Lie beside me." He asked, knowing now that he would not be refused, not when he could feel the sharp intake of breath against his lips that spoke of anticipation and a yearning long held in check.

He stepped away, walking quietly around the room to blow out each candle one by one, each rising coil of smoke lending heavily to the thickness in the air until he came full circle, leaving just one flickering light at his bedside untouched, because he could not condemn this night to darkness, needed something to see by to burn the memory into his mind, to forever see behind closed eyes the endearing sight of his beautiful elf, boots kicked off and feet bare upon the counterpane as he sat waiting for his return, a gentle warmth in his eyes as he clambered up to join him, shadows reaching out to them from the corners of the room to enfold them in their own little world as slowly they lay down together, side by side, facing one another in the scarce light.

There were no words left for him to say, nothing that would bring justice to the vision before him, for how he felt in that moment, so he settled instead for letting his fingertips drift over the elf's face, to follow the curve of his cheek and the line of his jaw, to gather silken hair between his fingers and brush it aside, worship in every shaking caress, heart beating madly in his chest as Legolas closed his eyes, letting him take his fill until he followed the light touches with soft kisses, letting his lips travel the same path, his body yearning forward, the bare distance between them an unending gulf until he traced the line of the maddening pulse beneath his skin, unable to stop his tongue from marking out the site of the next hot press of his lips to his neck, eliciting a gasp that caused a sharp jolt of arousal to pool low in his stomach, his own mewl of pleasure lost in the sound of silk sliding over cotton, one hand coming around Aragorn's waist to grip at his shirt and pull them together.

Aragorn smiled, breathing the elf's name into his skin as he rolled onto his back, bringing Legolas with him, reaching up to hold his hair back as he brought him down into a long searing kiss, one hand sweeping low to slip beneath his shirt, running smoothly across the gentle curve of his back, feeling the muscle shift beneath silken skin, eliciting an intoxicating sound as his nails grazed a path down the length of his spine, making him arch into Aragorn, eyes dark with barely held restraint.

He felt drunk, his head swimming, breath short. His entire body trembled, his fingers shaking as he swept the hair back from Legolas' face, tucking it behind his ear so that the light from the candle could paint its warm glow across his cheek, tracing the shadows across his face, fingertips carefully sweeping the edge of the shy smile. His heart ached, a sweet agony filling him, welling up with every breath he took, stolen away with the captivating beauty that had overtaken his senses. "This must be a dream." He breathed, unable suddenly to believe that he could think himself this lucky, to have Legolas with him, warm, alive and perfectly real within his arms, smiling down at him as he leaned into Aragorn's touch, turning his head to press a kiss into his palm.

"T'is no dream." came the whispered reply, the pattern of the words breathed out against his fingertips, soft kisses against each one. There had been a sadness to his voice, a regret that spoke of years spent waiting in the shadows, of unspoken devotion and adoration, of being brought forwards to stand in the light of the sun only moments before it set.

Aragorn tightened his arms, holding on as he wished for night unending, to spend eternity in this moment.

Legolas gasped, his breath pained and Aragorn started, realised that he had held too tight, letting go as Legolas sat, knees either side of Aragorn's waist. He waited for second, watching with a certain awe and appreciation as the pain faded from the elf's face, his hand daring to rest on one of the legs that framed his body, running up in a smooth and solid path as he pushed himself up, catching his arm around trim waist to stop himself from falling back. He could feel the weight of Legolas' gaze on him, but he looked instead at his own fingers, tracing the shape of the fastening of the shirt before him, his own breath felt on the back of his hand as he slowly slipped the knot from its loop, an extra inch of pale skin exposed to the meagre light.

He felt hands settle on his shoulders, expected to be stopped at any moment, but they merely held him, flinching in their grip as his breath swam hotly through the growing opening, each held fastening like a torturous obstacle keeping him from his prize, but soon he was at the last and he held his breath at the first feeling of his hands on his hips, brazen in their caress as he ran them smoothly up his stomach, over his chest and parting the shirt as he slowly swept it over his shoulders, his hands clenched tightly in the material as it dragged down his arms, trapping him within its confines as Aragorn froze, his brow creased with pain as he stared at the small scar in the centre of his chest, the skin pink and smooth, only just beginning to heal. He let go of the shirt, drawing it from unresisting arms and casting it aside, his hands flat against the smooth expanse of the elf's back as Aragorn drew him close, pressing his lips to the mark, unable to believe that something so small had almost ended the life he held, had come so close to stopping the heart he felt beat beneath his kiss.

"Aragorn?" There was wonder in the elf's voice, in the way his fingers carded through his hair, holding Aragorn gently as he turned his cheek to his chest to better hear the sound of his heart beating, to remind himself that he lived, that he would do so long after Aragorn had left this world, eyes closed as Legolas laid his cheek atop his head, arms around his shoulders as the elf's hair tumbled down to fall around them.

He had come so close to losing him, to having him ripped so forcefully from his side in a way he had always thought impossible. He felt his eyes tear, stinging as he whispered lowly "I love you." Feeling the beat of the heart beneath his cheek quicken, the arms that held him close tighten as a kiss was pressed to the top of his head. He raised his face, lips searching and finding the others to seal his words with action, to make him understand just how broken he was, Aragorn's hand behind his neck as they turned, guiding them down, breathing in the gasp as cool sheets touched the elf's back, Aragorn's weight held just above him, kissing him deeply, his hand holding firm to the curve of his waist. He groaned lowly as Legolas arched up into his touch, his promise spoken again against the other's lips. "I love you," voice breaking as words failed him.

Legolas pulled him close, uncaring of his weight as Aragorn laid against him, the dark blue of his gaze following the gentle path his fingers took as they mapped the lines of his face, resting finally on his lips, the smallest flicker of a smile lighting his eyes as Aragorn kissed them before pulling them away, leaning up to breath "And I you," before he kissed him.

He felt his heart melt, his eyes fall shut as he was drawn down into the perfection of his kiss, letting himself succumb to the intoxicating feeling of completion that flooded him. This is where they belonged, in the gentle circle of each other's arms, to hold one another and care not of what others thought, for what could it really matter who he loved. Surely none could deny them, if they knew just how hard their hearts beat for each other, how fast their blood ran in their veins, how they would gladly lay down their lives to see the other safe. To claim this as wrong would be to deny what the god's themselves had given, for Aragorn was sure that the light that filled him now was nothing other than a gift from the Valar themselves, to hold and give joy to every moment that he spent with Legolas by his side.


	12. Chapter 12

To say that Aragorn had slept would be a lie, the night passing as though one long endless dream, images that usually only came to him with eyes closed now before him as he lay awake. They did not speak, save to whisper each other's name, betraying the love they felt for one another in voiced caresses.

The candle burnt low, casting longer and longer shadows until finally guttering and leaving them with the pale light of the moon that poured in through the open window, painting them with silver light.

He lay silently in the dark, watching the growing light of dawn creep in with its dim pallor, listening to the low and even breaths of Legolas asleep on his chest, hair strewn across Aragorn's body where he had spent the night idly running it through his fingers, delighting in the shiver and contented sigh of his elf.

He had promised himself he would not sleep, would not lose a single moment of this night. If this was all that could be afforded to them he would hold on to every second with all that he held dear. He looked down at the sleeping elf, at the contented look upon his face even as he slept with eyes closed, almost unnatural for an elf, telling of the weariness still upon his healing body. Aragorn leant close to kiss his brow, smiling as Legolas shifted, arm tight around his waist, legs tangled together within the warmth of the covers. He lightly traced his cheek, brushing aside a lock of hair and pulled up the sheet, covering the bare shoulder lest he feel the morning chill.

Aragorn felt sick, a hollow ache in his chest that made him want to retch and heave.

One night he had asked for, and one night he had been given, the hours slipping by despite his fervent prayers for the moon to slow her path in the sky above them, to grant them just a little longer. But she had long since set, and a new day was starting, edging closer with a faint halo of light that Aragorn wanted to deny, to pull a curtain over the world and shut out the light so they could forever lay in darkness, holding fast to one another with shared kisses and promises of love and adoration.

A thrill of anger coursed through him, making his heart lurch and race, but with his anger came a flash of resolve, the faint stirring of hopeful ideal in his mind. He eyed the pale sky outside the window with a steel determination, reaching for the arm around his waist to hold the lax hand within his, bringing it up to his lips to kiss the fingers curled within his own. "Legolas."

Blue eyes opened, dull and tired but full of warmth as he slowly raised his head to look at him in the barely there light. Aragorn smiled softly, unable to stop himself as the affection in the elf's eyes warmed him, slowly reaching to stroke his cheek with the back of his hand. He shivered as Legolas stretched out beside him, his hand curling around the back of Aragorn's neck as he pressed his face to his neck, breath warm and sweet against his skin, sighing his contentment out between them and brushing his lips against the pulse of life beneath his skin. Aragorn smiled and made his own low sound of pleasure, rolling them both within the tangle of covers so that he could look down upon the sleepy elf, warm and relaxed with his hair in glorious disarray. He bent to capture soft lips in a slow and tender caress. "Wait here." He whispered, leaning back and sitting despite wanting to crawl closer, to nestle down within the sheets and blankets and smooth away the sudden concern that caused the elf's brow to crease.

"Where are you going?" Legolas asked lowly, sitting up and drawing his legs up to his chest, clutching the covers around his knees.

"I won't be long." He promised, rolling from the bed still clothed and tugging on his boots. "There is something I did not settle with Faramir, and I would rather go to him, than have him come to us." He raised his eyebrow and grinned when Legolas blushed, the soft pink highlighting his cheeks in an achingly endearing manner that forced Aragorn to lean forward, kneeling on the bed so as to capture a swift kiss that made the elf laugh, his smile intoxicating as Aragorn straightened. "Keep the bed warm."

It wasn't a lie, not really, just an omission of a truth he didn't wish to unsettle the elf with, not when there were still a few hours before the sun rose properly. He was quick on his feet, boots echoing in the cold stone corridor, the sconces still lit and an unnatural silence in the air as he took a turn, momentarily lost in the darkness as he sought out the steward's room, knocking on his door with what sounded like a deafening beat.

His fingers thrummed against his leg, nerves and tension making his shoulders ache, the cold settling into his limbs. The door was wrenched open before him and Faramir appeared, shirt undone and hair bedraggled, his eyes bleary with sleep but widening with surprise as he recognised Aragorn at his door.

"My lord, is something wrong?" he straightened, his hand on the jamb.

"No." Aragorn countered quickly, "Well, not really." He amended. Faramir looked at him quizzically, all traces of sleep gone from his face as Aragorn shifted his weight, tilting his chin with affected authority "I need you to postpone plans for the wedding" He swallowed roughly, unable to believe he'd actually said it, had not had to grasp at whatever shred of courage lay within his heart to speak the words, letting them flow from him as though bursting from a dam, a rush of exhilaration flooding though him, "...actually... I want you to cancel it." He said smartly, proud that he had kept his voice even and somewhat amused at the comical look of surprise on Faramir's face as what he'd said sunk in.

"What?" He stuttered, standing up straight and folding his shirt closed across his chest, arms folded.

"I will not be married." He said simply, betraying nothing of the suffocating terror of his own decision. "I will ride out today to meet Arwen."

There was a lapse of astonished silence and Aragorn was sorely tempted to turn on his heel and walk away, actually started to do so but was stopped as Faramir all but sprang from the doorway. "Aragorn, are you serious?"

Aragorn stopped, he must have shocked him enough for him to call him by name. "Very." He said quietly, meeting the steward's eye.

Faramir stammered, his surprise and concern marring his brow. He could see a thousand questions flickering across his face, warring with his sense of propriety. "I'll... see to it right away." He said uncertainly, eyeing Aragorn with a wary eye of mistrust, as though he were being tested.

Aragorn nodded. "Thank you." He looked at Faramir, knowing that he was burning with curiosity. "I'll be leaving after the morning meal. I ask for your discretion, if that is something I can rely on?" He waited until the steward nodded. "I'll need you to make my excuses, no one is to know where I have gone."

"You are going alone?" Faramir asked quietly, searching Aragorn's face for a hint at what was going on.

He nodded his assent.

"Is that wise?"

"Probably not." Aragorn conceded, "But it is something I must do." He added gravely, only realising now just what it was he was setting out to do, his stomach twisting with a sickening guilt that made his skin prick and crawl.

"What should I tell the council?" Faramir asked quietly.

"Tell them nothing for now." Aragorn tugged his collar closer around his neck, feeling the cold much more keenly now the adrenaline of his decision had started to wear off. "I will meet with them soon, there are things we must discuss."

"My lord...?" Faramir wavered. He looked as though he desperately wanted to question him, to make sense of the early morning visit.

"I will explain myself." Aragorn appeased him, something soft to his voice. "But for now, your discretion will be appreciated." He clasped his hand warmly on Faramir's shoulder, rocking him under the sudden weight.

"Of course." Faramir nodded, his loyalty outweighing his curiosity.

Aragorn smiled. "I'm sorry to have woken you so early, please..." He indicated the open door, instructing him silently to go back to bed, eager to get back to his own.

He left Faramir standing awkwardly in the doorway, a look of quiet disbelief on his face as though wondering if the impromptu dawn meeting had actually happened, watching Aragorn as he walked away.

He'd said it now, had taken the first step that would manifest a change in his life that would see him become himself. He felt an odd lightness in his step as he walked the dark path back to his room, feeling a relief that he hadn't thought would come with the knowledge of having to deliver such devastating news. But this was his decision, one that he had made, that no one had coerced him into or judged to be better for everyone but him. He felt the trappings of the net cast around him slip, the first trace of a smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

He inched his door open, light on his feet and in his heart as he stole into the room, sliding his boots off and leaving them by the door as he took care to let it click quietly into the latch. The dawn light inked the room in pale blues and dark shadows as he picked his way across to his bed, stopping at the edge to simply stare, enchanted by the enthralling sight before him. Never would he have thought he'd see these visions come true, to know that if he reached out he could trace his fingers down the gentle slope of his back. The elf lay sprawled across his bed, the covers tangled around his legs and a pillow folded in his arms , his face pressed into the velveteen softness as he slept, unaware of Aragorn's presence.

With a deliberate care and grace he crawled onto the bed, slowly draping himself along the sleep warm body, his arm around his waist, hand smoothing along his stomach, up to cover the slow beat of his heart which quickened with the soft kiss Aragorn pressed to the back of his neck. Legolas sighed, a quiet noise of contentment as he turned slowly in Aragorn's arms, eyes still closed as he pressed his cheek to Aragorn's chest. "You are done?" He murmured softly, a small smile on his face as Aragorn pulled the covers up around them, folding them both into their warmth as he settled back into the pillows.

"Yes." Aragorn smiled gently, fingers already carding through the length of elf's hair. "Go back to sleep." He kissed the top of the head that lay on his chest.

They lay in silence for a while, their slow breaths the only sound that disturbed the fading shadow of the night, the minutes edging by, bringing the inevitable light and with it the growing trill of birds as they greeted the first glimpse of dawn.

"The night is ending." Legolas said sadly, his voice low and quiet in the dark, twisting Aragorn's heart with his aching futility.

He held him tighter, hushing him with soft sounds. "It does not have to." He whispered.

Legolas did not argue, instead he pulled himself from Aragorn's arms, slowly slipping from the bed with a distinct grace the belied the tiredness that had softened his voice. He walked to the window, letting the cool morning light wash him with muted colour, eyes shining despite the pain that seemed to tighten his body as he leant against the window ledge. "Everything changes Aragorn." He said softly, his eyes on the rose glow edging up from behind the distant mountains. "These are your last days as a ranger." He turned his softened gaze on Aragorn, something bitter about the smile that edged his lips that drew Aragorn from the warmth of his bed, the floor cold beneath his feet as he slowly walked to join the elf at the window, no reply on his lips save the kiss he pressed to his shoulder, sweeping his hair aside as he stood behind him, his arms around his chest as he pressed his face against his neck, his breath shallow and painful as Legolas leaned back in his sudden embrace.

"Things can change for the better." Aragorn breathed, lightly kissing the cheek that Legolas turned to him. "Tell me what it would take."

Legolas brought his hands to cover Aragorn's, their fingers lacing together over the scar on his chest. "Tell the sun not to rise." He whispered, turning back to the growing light.

"I'm serious." He all but growled, releasing his hold so he could turn him, hands tight on his shoulders as he drew his darkened gaze.

"As am I." Legolas countered.

Aragorn released a ragged breath, trying not to let his vexation show. "If I could make this right..." he searched the face before him, "Would you stay?"

He waited with held breath, watching the play of emotion on the expressive face, a slight frown creasing his brow as he held Aragorn in watchful regard. "I don't see how..."

"Shh." His fingers pressed themselves to the elf's lips, silencing the doubt. "Just tell me, if nothing stood in our way, if I could make it so that nothing opposed us, would you stay with me?" he held his hands to Legolas' face, standing close to feel his shaking breath against his lips, to see the wavering hesitation in his eyes.

"You would only have to ask." He breathed, the faint glimmer of hope smothered and snuffed out with the heart breaking sadness that radiated from him.

"Then I will make it right." He promised, cradling the face in his hands as he leant forward and kissed him, pressing him lightly against the window sill as Legolas drew his arms around his waist, a soft sound of pleasure passing between them as the first rays of the sun crested the mountains, spilling their golden light through the window to paint them with the warmth of a new day.


	13. Chapter 13

Aragorn left for the stables just after breakfast, his stomach heavy and leaden from what he'd forced himself to eat, quick surges of panic rushing through his veins as he rushed through the streets, his face hooded and hidden from the scurrying crowds setting up their wares for the mornings business. He was quick to saddle his horse, hauling himself up as Gandalf entered, the wizard quick to respond to his summons, reading the missive he was given with a shrewd look.

"You are certain of this Aragorn?" He asked mildly, a certain sense of wonder in his voice.

"I am." He looked down at Gandalf and his measuring gaze, watching his face for a moment's disapproval and finding none.

"And if he refuses?" Gandalf asked, hefting the letter before him, his countenance grave with concern.

"Then I will seek another action." Aragorn countered, "Either way, it will not change what I do today."

Gandalf looked at him appraisingly, weighing him up with a cool gaze. "And you are certain this action is the best for you to take?"

"What else would you ask of me Gandalf?" Aragorn shifted the reins in his hands, "You would have me settle? To spend my years in regret?"

"Never." Gandalf smiled, folding the letter into the pocket of his robes and fixed Aragorn with an amused look. "I told you he was fond of you." He winked, eyes full of laughter at the sudden blush that heated Aragorn's face.

"Work your magic my friend." Aragorn smiled, urging his mount forward, "I do not know when I shall return, or the manner of it." He kicked his heels, springing from the gate and out into the morning air, the chill rush against his face keeping pace with the sprint of his heart, the beat of hooves against the stone streets as he urged his steed through the streets, bursting from the city gates before the guards could recognise him.

He headed north, taking the well travelled road at a speed that betrayed his dread anticipation, not allowing himself to slow as the shadow of cowardice shaded the back of his mind bid him, the knowledge of being woefully unprepared doing nothing for his urgency, and perhaps the only thing that he was thankful for, for if he lingered too long on the words he should practice in his mind he would pull on the reins, would turn his ride and run back to the white walls of his city.

But he kept his pace, every press of his eyes closing offering the blessed vision of golden hair spread across his pillow, of blue eyes so trusting as they held the warmth and laughter of a secret smile staring up at him, his heart blooming with warmth at the remembered taste of his lips, of the warmth and strength of his body as he'd held him in his arms.

Thoughts of what could await his return spurred him on faster, the miles eaten away by his tearing stride. Hills, trees and springs blurring past him, eyes watering as the wind tore at him, hair swept from his face, the shirt and tunic doing nothing to keep the chill from his skin and his fingers felt frozen in their grip on the reins, but he did not slow, not even when the adrenaline rushing in his veins caused him to choke, stomach roiling and mouth dry as he swallowed his discomfort down, turning for a moment to spit into the wind.

It was only when he saw the faint wisp of a distant banner, pale on the breeze and far from sight did he pull on the reins, causing his steed to rear, his balance wavering. His breath was fast, burning in his lungs and making his side ache from trying to keep up with it, to suck in cold lungfuls of air to try and quench the sickening fire that licked at his heart.

With a grim determination he kicked his heels, leaping once more into another sprint, this one not quite as hectic and almost tame compared to the speed he'd left the city, but it was the hardest stretch by far, the distance between himself and his quarry both achingly far and terrifyingly close.

Onwards he rode, until he could make out the shape of riders, of standards and banners and finally the long shrill of a horn announcing his approach pierced the air, stirring his heart with dread. His eyes traced every figure, every face, searching every hood from which spilled dark hair until with a joyful cry he saw the crowd part to let Arwen through, her face shining under the sun with unnatural grace and her eyes filled with such happiness that it make Aragorn's heart seize.

He made slow measure of unsaddling, his movements mechanical and awkward, the ground beneath his feet seemed unsteady, every stilted step he took seemed to shake him, tested every inch of his resolve. How had he faced so many foes? How had he walked into battle after battle, met every blade with a strike of his own without this heart thundering fear? How could he call himself a brave and honourable man when he could not bring himself to look upon the face he had once loved so dearly without fighting the urge to run?

"Estel!" Aragorn had to hold out his hands, grasping at her arms to stop her from launching herself into his arms, enveloping him in a joyous embrace as she had always been wont to do.

He could not even breath her name, had not yet brought himself to meet her gaze, nor the interested and curious stare of everyone gathered around them.

"My dear Estel," she sang, "I did not think you would ride to meet us!" she clutched at his shirt, pushing against his restraint as she smiled up at him. Maybe she had not yet recognised the pained look upon his face, or the way he would allow her no closer to him than the reach of his arms would allow, but she certainly noticed when he flinched from her touch, her fingers like ice and fire against his cheek as he turned away from her. "Estel?"

"Arwen..." his voice caught in his throat, suddenly aware of the eyes upon him. "I would talk with you away from here." He muttered, unable to hide the guilt that played upon his face.

"Estel, what is it?" Her voice became tinged with worry. "Has something gone ill? Is there danger in the city?"

"No, nothing like that." He hushed her quickly, appeasing her unease and the shifting disquiet of the elves gathered around them. "Please..." He turned his head to look for a path, for somewhere shaded from view and found himself suddenly locked with Elrond's stern gaze, something steely and apprehensive behind his eyes.

Aragorn nodded his acquiescence as he was greeted, his name falling from his foster fathers lips like a question and an accusation, reading further into his discomfort than Arwen had. "It would seem you must come with some importance, for you to be able to leave the city unescorted." He raised his eyebrow, assessing him with the same air that had always made Aragorn confess all manner of sins when he was a boy.

"It is of the utmost importance." He agreed quietly. "But I must speak with Arwen alone."

"You worry me Estel." Arwen reached to cover his hand, but he swept it from under her grazing touch, daring to place it to the small of her back as he tried to usher her away.

"You will not be kept long." He said as he passed Elrond, trying to hold his encompassing stare and failing, head dropping to stare at the ground instead as they walked, leading her away from the whispers that rippled through the crowd.

He was aware now of how his hands were damp, palms sweating even as he rubbed them against his shirt, his throat dry as he walked ahead, footsteps heavy from shaking legs as he headed toward a small copse, the shade from the scarce leaves amongst the branches keeping the worst of the overhead sun from his eyes.

He cleared his throat as he stopped, pulling at the hem of his collar as he turned, unsurprised yet equally dismayed to find he had no idea what to say.

"My love, you are pale." Arwen reached again to touch his face. "Come, sit with me and tell me what it is that pains you." She tugged on his arm, pulling him down to sit beside her on the thick grass.

He was glad of the rest, unsure just how long his legs would hold him. He licked at his parched lips, aware of how she stared at him, hovering on the edge of his vision, leaning towards to him to better see his face which he kept turned away. "I confess, I have not given thought to what I am to say." He said lowly, "Only that I must say it."

"Say what?" Her voice was low and soft, patient and trusting and it made Aragorn hate himself all the more.

He sighed heavily, brushing his fingers across the grass. "I came to you before we left... I spoke to your father. We were all agreed, you were to sail away..." He spoke almost as though to himself. "You should have gone." He whispered.

He heard Arwen shift beside him, saw the dark curtain of her hair fall into view as she leaned to catch his eye. "Estel, what is this you speak?"

"I released you from your vow, from the life you promised to me." He finally had the nerve to meet her eye, to see the puzzlement that sparkled in the liquid depth.

"It is mine to give." She smiled softly, as though talking to a child, teaching a lesson that had been told many times before.

Aragorn shook his head slowly, unable to find words that did not brutally declare that he did not want it anymore. But the message must have been in his eyes, or the way his back bowed and his shoulders slumped, his breath nothing more than a haggard sigh that hitched and shuddered as she leant away, her hand against her chest as though he had spat the words that cloyed his mind at her.

"Estel?"

"I could not lie to you." Aragorn muttered, ripping up the blades of grass twisted within his fingers.

"Then speak the truth." She looked at him now with a hardened gaze, "What is it you are telling me? What has happened?"

"Something I could never have foreseen." He admitted lowly. "I am loath to tell you, to hurt you in any way, but I fear I must, because to lie to you and hide what I have found would only hurt you all the more."

Arwen said nothing, sitting with her back straight and her eyes dark.

"I cannot keep the vow I swore, for my heart is no longer my own to give." He said quietly, waiting for what would come next, for angry words or heated voice. But there was neither, only silence in the small copse, the sound of the breeze stirring the leaves above them, bringing the gentle warmth of the summer afternoon to them.

"If it is not yours, then who does it belong to?" She asked him coolly, "Who is it that has so easily replaced me in your affections?" Aragorn winced at her tone, sharply edged in her demands.

"Not easily." He breathed vehemently. "But I have loved them for a long time without seeing so, longer than I have known you." She frowned at him, clearly not expecting his answer. "And it was only as the sound of battle faded and I thought him fallen did I know, when I felt my heart break with a love so woven into the very fibre of my being that I thought myself undone."

"Him?" The shock in her voice cut through him, recoiling as though startled.

He met her gaze with a nervous regard, holding fast in the maelstrom of confusion and agitation that thundered and stormed in her eyes, wide and dark and he could almost hear the question of 'who?' whispered from her lips even though no words were spoken, and he hung his head in deference of her pain lest she see the joy and love that welled within him at the simple honour of breathing his name. "Legolas."

She turned away from him, rising swiftly to her feet and he struggled to do the same, watching her with apprehension and unease as she walked to the nearest tree, placing her hands upon the bark as though in supplication to the gods, but instead of words of prayer falling from her lips there was only the sound of her breathing, heavy and sharp in the close air.

He did not go to her, did not reach out to put a hand on her shoulder, to comfort her as he had always done. For what comfort could he offer.

She turned to him, her dress billowing wide for a moment, captured like gossamer silk in the breeze, highlighting her tragic beauty as the light from the sun above them dappled through the leaves to land and reflect on the tears that streaked her flushed cheeks.

He almost wished that she would shout, would scream or tear at him, rending his shirt or beat against him with angry fists. He had never had any guard against her tears, had always broken down to see them wiped away, and he felt sickened with himself to know that he was the one to put them there.

"Legolas?" She breathed the name with the bitter taste of betrayal colouring her perfumed voice.

"I never meant to." He whispered softly, knowing that it was no excuse, that nothing would be enough.

"But... he is a man?" She twisted her hand in the folds of her dress, looking him up and down with a look that almost bordered on horror.

Aragorn nodded grimly, fighting against the urge to say something obvious. "I do not care." He said resolutely with as much strength as he could muster.

Arwen was shaking her head, her lips pursed and face pale, one hand against the tree as though to hold her up, to steady her before she fell to her knees. "Do I really mean so little to you?"

"Of course not." He all but cursed, striding forward across the clearing to stand before her, to hold her eyes and make her see the burning fire of his honesty on his eyes. "You were always so very dear to me, you still are. You know this."

"And yet your heart has turned from me with so little provocation." She stated numbly.

"I could not have anticipated it... nor could I have known how hard it would strike me. If it were something I could take back, could make untrue somehow to spare you this hurt then I would, believe me, I would. But I could not ask either of us to live a lie, and I will not."

"You are so decided?" She asked him, "no more than a few weeks from the war's end?"

"I am." He placed his hand over his heart, looking at her beseechingly, "It is something that has brought me great pain, and a decision that I have not thought of lightly."

"Our years together are ended?" quiet disbelief trembling in her voice.

Aragorn closed his eyes against the wave of pain. "I am sorry." He whispered, nodding once to bow his head before her, to show deference to his own unease and guilt.

She sat suddenly, and Aragorn started, thinking that she had fallen, but instead she curled in on herself, her hands covering her face as her shoulders heaved, a heavy sob resounding through the air between him forcing Aragorn to his knees, arms outstretched on instinct to pull her hands from her face, to try and stop her tears.

"No!" she pushed him away. "I do not believe it!" Aragorn sat back, landing heavily and grazing his hand on the rocks hidden in the grass.

"Arwen..." he looked at her in disbelief as she leaned closer, fire in her eyes but her face impassive.

"Estel." She took one of his hands, suddenly calm, turning it over to see the roughed up skin. "I understand." She stroked her fingers over the small hurt. "For months you have been away, and who knows what horrors you have seen." Aragorn looked at her with a chill in his heart, could almost hear the words before she said them, had heard them already from his own tired and frustrated mind, from Legolas when he had tried to excuse him of what he'd thought of as a passing whim.

"There were many battles," He said gravely, "And we all saw terrible things, but not once did I think to seek comfort to chase away the dark." He met her steel gaze. "I would not betray you like that."

"So why come to me now, why not meet me at the city?" She asked, already knowing the answer in the guilty flush that coloured Aragorn's cheeks.

"I told him." He admitted quietly.

Arwen waited, the silence long and deafening. "And?"

"He feels the same."

She paled visibly before him, her hand reaching up to cover her mouth as though fighting against the sickness in her stomach. "It can't be..." She breathed.

"I'm so sorry." He gripped the hand that still lightly held his, trying to pour forth his anguish and regret into his touch, to make her believe that had never wished for this.

They sat together in silence, birdsong falling from the trees above, their song sad and slow as the shadows shifted over them in a never ending pattern of leaves moving on the wind. The guilt tore through him, like a blade twisted in his stomach leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, his heart thumping in slow, sluggish waves as a feeling of abject misery seeped coldly into him.

"What will you do?" She asked at length, the tears dried upon her face but he did not think for a moment that they were over.

"I don't know." He replied airily, had not truly thought past this day, or what would come at the end of it. He still had so much to do, but all he knew was what he wanted, what his heart yearned for, his entire body aching for the thought of ending every day with a gentle kiss and the night spent in the warm confines of his lovers arms.

"You love him." She stated lowly, an admittance to herself.

Aragorn nodded, slowly. "More than I thought was possible."

"And he loves you."

"So he says." He said softly, knowing it for the truth, could still feel the pattern of the words being whispered against his lips.

She smiled briefly and Aragorn was taken aback, frozen to the spot as she reached to stroke his cheek with the back of her hand. "How could he not." She said sadly. He turned his face into her touch, remembering a time when he would have slain every orc in middle earth just to return to her side, but now she felt cold to him, her touch the ghost of a love that now felt like a betrayal to the one that did hold his heart.


	14. Chapter 14

The sun was on its way to setting by the time he found himself within the sight of the city walls, its gleaming spires and fluttering banners a welcome sight for him.

He'd spent the long hours sitting with Arwen, talking and reminiscing, sometimes laughing, but mostly wishing away her tears. He had left them a while ago, waiting until he had turned a corner in the road and was far from their hearing before he climbed down from his horse and let his own tears fall, falling to his knees as he wept for her loss, to know that they were leaving these shores and he would never look upon her face again, would never hear her sing or say his name.

He lamented her absence from his life now, something he had long looked forward to, had indeed strived to make the world perfect just for her, and to know that he had shared his last day with her made his heart ache. He had sat alone at the side of the road for what had felt like hours, replaying his last goodbye to the family that had raised him, to the woman he should have spent his life with, his face pressed into the arms folded atop his knees, so very glad now that he had come alone.

But the day was coming to an end and he wove his weary way down the hillside, lax in the saddle and sliding with each heavy step of his mount, eyes unseeing on the great expanse of his city rising up to greet him.

There was no fanfare as he reached the gate, no guard set out to look for him and he just remembered to pull up the hood of his cloak before he made his way up and through the streets, the residents he'd seen this morning now packing away their tables and wares but he paid them no mind as he kept his face down, trusting his steed to find its way through the city streets, further and further up through the levels until he reached the higher stables, only raising his eyes when he saw Gandalf waiting for him.

He slipped from the saddle, landing heavily on his feet and letting the stable boy lead the horse away without a word, letting the wizard take him by the elbow, leading him away to a courtyard built into the face of the rock where a small fountain bubbled merrily as he buried his face into the wizards soft robes, letting them soak up his tears as Gandalf patted him awkwardly, murmuring distant words of comfort that did nothing to assuage his sickening guilt.

"I have done as you asked." Gandalf said softly, sitting beside Aragorn on one of the low benches, their faces hidden in the shadows so they were not looked upon by any that passed. "It took some persuading, Gwaihir does not like to think of himself as a messenger." He grimaced in a way that made Aragorn smile, imagining the wizard in some heated debate with the eagle lord. "But he has taken your message north, it will take him but a day to reach Mirkwood, but who knows how long we should wait for Thranduil's reply."

Aragorn swallowed roughly. "You think he will deny my request?"

"I think you have been ambiguous enough to slip the truth past him." Gandalf said with reproach, clearly uncomfortable with Aragorn himself.

"To send the truth in a letter would no doubt result in all of Mirkwood's armies beating down the doors of the white city." He countered, irate and grim in his resolve.

"And you will reveal yourself when?" Gandalf raised his eyebrow.

"When the time comes." Aragorn bit, "If and when it should occur. I do not know what the days to come shall bring." He rubbed a hand across his face

"You have not told him?" Gandalf sat back, the shock apparent on his face. "You send a royal pardon for his stay here and you have not spoken to Legolas about this?"

Aragorn hushed him, aware of the hardness creeping into his voice. "I promised I would make this right." He sighed, not caring how cryptic he sounded.

"Aragorn..." Gandalf stood, leaning on his staff. "There is impulsive, and then there is reckless!"

"I asked what it would take." He stood too, face set as he met Gandalf's hard gaze. "I asked if he would stay if nothing stood in our way." There was a sudden thickness in his throat, chokingly aware of what he had already done so far. "And I will do whatever it takes."

The wizard's hard demeanour softened at the sudden emotion in his voice. "Oh my dear boy." He smiled softly, a sympathetic pain in his eyes. "You've had a trying day, forgive me." He held his hand out for Aragorn to take, holding it within his own for a moment as he shook his head.

"There is nothing to apologise for." Aragorn conceded. "Perhaps I have been too rash in some things. But with very little time, there was no other course or action." He looked to Gandalf to assuage his fears, that he was not out of his mind, plagued by a sudden delirium. But the other man merely smiled in that secret way of his, and despite his wish for placating words he was consoled instead by the simple nature of his own unique comforts.

"I should speak with Faramir." His body ached at the thought, wishing for nothing more than to climb into his bed and embrace the comforting depths of sleep, to chase away his guilt and hurt with the numbing effects of a dreamless slumber.

"I think perhaps you've had enough to deal with for one day." Gandalf said softly. "You should take the evening for yourself."

Aragorn sighed and shook his head. "There are still things I need to attend to, some speech I have to write..." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "An oath to recite..." His head ached at the thought.

"Then go to your study." Gandalf swept his arm wide, leading them both out into the bright afternoon light. "I shall tell Faramir that you are returned, and to leave you be for the night. You shall have peace from your officials." He winked slyly and Aragorn nodded his profuse thanks, walking with tired bones into the cool, silent halls.

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He had been sat at his desk for hours, more time spent on the view from the window beside him than on his work. He'd written out his oaths a hundred times, his tired eyes tracing out the words over and over again, trying to impress them upon his memory but it was little use, caught instead in the sunset he could make out through the warped and aged glass.

He could still feel the cold shiver of disquiet running down his spine, the cool stares that made his skin prick. He could still hear the betrayal in Elrond's voice, the hard edge to his words, brittle and cruel as he'd denounced him, leaving him hurt and cold. Alone.

There was a slow and timid knock at the door and he bid the visitor to enter, glad of whatever distraction he could get, but unprepared to see that it was Legolas who edged quietly into the room, a thick and much thumbed book held in his arm.

"I beg your pardon for the interruption." He said quietly, and Aragorn almost laughed to hear such hesitation in his voice.

"Yours is a presence I think I can bear." He smiled, feeling a warmth within his heart for the first time since riding out that morning. He stood from his chair to meet him.

"Faramir thought you might need this." He proffered the book he'd brought with him, something old and dusty and full of hymns and laws and oaths from long ago, the mere sight of it made Aragorn wince, but he took it. "Gandalf was rather adamant that someone else should bring it to you." He looked at Aragorn with a frown.

"He did say he would do his best to keep me undisturbed." He thumped the book down on the desk.

"Then I should leave you to your work." Legolas said softly.

"No, don't" Aragorn caught him by the arm, just a gentle touch but it seemed to root them both to the spot, instant tension mounting between them and Aragorn wondered at the nature of it, thinking of how only that morning they had parted with a tender kiss, soft words of adoration muted and quiet in the new days light.

Aragorn looked at him now, hair golden and braided, the dark blue of his shirt matching the shade of his eyes, beautiful, flawless, and perfect. Utterly perfect. Standing unwavering before him except when Aragorn reached up to cup his face in his hand, dark lashes fluttering for the briefest of moments, the smallest hint of a puzzled frown creasing his brow.

He dared to step forward, to bend his head and draw Legolas up into his kiss, to affirm for himself that he had not dreamt the night before, had not imagined what had passed between them, and he was rewarded for his daring as a warm hand curled around the back of his neck, fingers inching into his hair at the nape of his neck, making him shiver and sigh and smile into the kiss. "I have wanted to do that all day." He breathed, earning him a quiet laugh and another quick kiss.

"As have I." The elf admitted lowly, a shy smile gracing his lips.

Aragorn embraced him suddenly, his arms strong around the slender body as he pressed his face into the golden hair at his neck, breathing him in as he felt Legolas return the gesture, taken off guard but happy enough to hold him as Aragorn tightened his grip, anxious to feel the solidity and strength of the elf beneath his hands, to know that he was his to hold.

"Aragorn?" the guarded question in the gentle voice made him pull back, pressing small and doting kisses to the fair cheek before him, his hands brushing golden hair from the elf's shoulders as he straightened, meeting that captivating gaze with his own.

"Sit down." He whispered, indicating the chair across from his own, the shallow expanse of the desk separating him, feeling like a wide gulf before he leaned to take one pale hand in his, to hold it carefully within his own as he spoke.

"I rode out today." He confessed quietly, meeting the watchful gaze.

"Rode out?" Legolas asked, curious but trusting in his regard. "Faramir said you were with the council all day."

"I asked him to say something of the sort." He said tiredly. "But in truth, I went out to meet Arwen." The hand he held seemed to flinch and the face before him paled. "I had already told Faramir to cancel all plans for the wedding, and I went to her to tell her that I could no longer hold to my vow." The hand slipped from between his, drawn back and curled into a fist that Legolas held pressed to his chest.

"You told her?" He looked aghast.

Aragorn nodded, "As was right."

Legolas stood, pale and shaken but his eyes hard. "By the gods Aragorn, what has possessed you?" Aragorn frowned, rising from his own seat, bracing his hands against the desk as he watched Legolas turn from him.

"I owed her the truth." He ground out, drawing the cool blue gaze towards him, a look of utter bewilderment on his face.

"You asked for one night." He whispered. Shock and awe in his wide eyes. "I did not think..."

"I said I would make this right." Aragorn countered heatedly, straightening and walking around the desk, taken aback by the surprise on the elf's face. He stopped, a thrill of astonishment making him pause. "You thought I would give you up?" He whispered, reading the self doubt and anxiety in Legolas' eyes. "That I would renounce what I feel for you..."

The elf dropped his gaze, turning his face away in an admittance of guilt. Compassion tore at Aragorn's heart, reaching out to take one of the hands that had curled lightly into fists that shook and trembled as he slowly straightened out the slender fingers, drawing them up so he could kiss each one. "My love." He breathed, lifting the face before him so that the light caught in the curiously bright eyes. "You doubt me." He ran his knuckles lightly along the line of the elf's jaw.

"Not you." Legolas said quietly, looking up at Aragorn through dark lashes. "But I know what it is to be in your position."

Aragorn couldn't help but smile, both hands framing the handsome face as he pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I gave you my word." He said fondly. "And I am a King, not a Prince." He held the guarded stare with his own, his meaning clear.

"Not yet." Legolas reminded him sadly. "And you are not my King."

Aragorn sighed, letting his fingers trace the delicate pattern of one golden braid. "Have you always lived your life with such sadness." He asked gently, noting the sudden flash of bitter pain that Legolas tried to hide by lowering his gaze.

"It is not sadness." Legolas said with noble defiance, a tone that bore the mark of practice and much use. Aragorn shook his head, leaning forward to softly kiss the cheek he held in his hand.

"Trust me." He whispered, following with another tender press of his lips. He could feel Legolas sigh, his hands coming to rest lightly on Aragorn's waist, faltering uncertainty in his touch that Aragorn sought to affirm with the assertion of his affections, moving his head to gently claim the elf's lips in a tender kiss, hoping to drive away his doubt and misgivings, to make Legolas realise that this was only the start, that he would stop at nothing until the elf was free to stand by his side.

"I do not distrust you." Legolas said, breathless and quiet. "But you wish me to believe that you can sway the people of this land into accepting your choice?" He leaned back, one hand resting on Aragorn's chest, fingertips gently tracing the hollow of his throat. "They were expecting a queen." He said lowly, "You think they will be happy with a Prince?"

"I care not what they expect." Aragorn muttered. "And besides, I need not worry, all who have ever met you have loved you." He smiled briefly, enjoying the soft blush on the elf's face.

"I am serious Aragorn." Legolas reprimanded, the severity lost with the indulgent smile. He sobered suddenly, stepping away from Aragorn to lean lightly on the edge of the desk, hands gripped either side of him. "Moreover, it is not our decision to make... or rather I should say, it is not mine."

"Surely it is just a matter of seeking permission?" Aragorn stated, back straight and arms folded. Legolas fixed him with a particularly withering stare, causing Aragorn to laugh in an unbecoming manner as he leant forward to take one of the elf's hands in his.

"You make light of my father's will?" Legolas looked at him darkly.

"Of course not." Aragorn said seriously, "I'm sorry." He drew his thumb across the back of the elf's hand in an appeasing caress. "But these things can be overcome, you will see." Aragorn said airily, the twitch of a smile curling his lips as he held the hand in his tightly.

Legolas tensed, almost in perceptively, a wary look of dawning comprehension gathering on his face as he straightened. "What have you done?" He whispered.

Aragorn felt a chill at the gravity in the elf's voice. "I have sent a request, to seek sanction to have you remain here in Gondor." He answered, his heart sinking as Legolas rose.

The elf paled before him, stunned. "You have sent word to my father about us..." He looked almost horror struck, "Without telling me?"

Aragorn felt the moment slipping away from him, had not explained himself at all, and when he stepped forward to touch his hand to the pale cheek Legolas flinched away, pushing his hand aside. "Legolas..."

"When?" Legolas asked.

"What?

"When did you send the message?" He demanded, entire body trembling with restraint.

"This morning, but I..." Aragorn shook his head, but was too late, Legolas had already walked to the door, opening it in a blur of movement and rushing out into the corridor, with Aragorn following just a moment behind.

"Legolas, wait." He called, catching up and reaching out to grasp at his shoulder, turning him. "Where are you going?"

"If I leave now I can catch the messenger." Legolas brushed him off, turning again to stride quickly down the hallway.

"You can't" Aragorn said, his voice catching as he knew what was to come. "I sent it with Gwaihir."

Legolas froze, shoulders tense as he turned slowly on the spot to face him. "What?"

Aragorn swallowed roughly. "I asked Gandalf to have it delivered swiftly." He realised just how foolish he sounded, how his rashness now seemed like idiocy when faced with the rising blue fury of the elf's gaze.

"You had no right." Legolas breathed, eyes narrowed and livid as Aragorn dared to step closer.

"I only asked for his pardon for your presence." He said, hands held wide in supplication. "Nothing more than that."

Legolas looked appalled. "So you lied?"

Aragorn frowned, confusion and uncertainty warring in his heart and mind, making him feel both hot and cold, heart thumping and voice trembling. "I did not think it wise to speak the truth." He said weakly.

Legolas laughed, pained and bitter. "Of course not," He scoffed. "And what happens when your true intentions become apparent."

Aragorn felt his resolve weaken and straightened himself to his full height, trying to hide the turmoil and chaos in his mind. "Then I will ask to seek an allegiance between our Kingdoms." He said, affecting authority and almost believing himself.

Legolas looked at him in shock, his hand on his stomach as though affected by a sudden blow. "Seek an allegiance?" He whispered, voice hollow with betrayal, looking Aragorn up and down in a way that made his own stomach crawl. "You think I am something to be traded... that I can be bought on a whim with a letter of fealty."

Aragorn felt sickened with himself, had not thought at how Legolas would perceive his intention. "I did not mean it like that, I thought that..."

"That what?" The elf spat, "That you could buy me? That you could seek my father's permission before you even ask for mine?" His voice was raising and Aragorn shot a nervous look at the guard that stood vigil at the end of the corridor, far away and almost lost in the shadows, but no doubt able to hear the sharp voice that bounced from the stone walls.

"I thought it the easiest way." He said lowly, trying to placate and explain himself, trying to get past the wall of anger that radiated around the other man, eyes dark and dismayed. "Gandalf told me you were betrothed before, I thought your father would listen if..."

"What?" The question was soft and whispered, broken, just as his expression was when Aragorn chanced looking up to meet his eye, immediately wishing he hadn't, knowing he had far overstepped the mark and that there would be nothing he could say to take it back. "He told you?" he asked numbly, lips barely moving, but Aragorn heard.

"Yes." He nodded slowly, watching as all the fight drained from him, face ashen, almost faint as he stepped forward. "Legolas, please, I'm so sorry." He grasped at his arms, noting how Legolas trembled beneath his touch as he tried to shrug him off.

"Don't." He whispered, looking everywhere but at Aragorn's face. He stepped back even as Aragorn reached for his face, trying to make him meet his eye, to make him see his remorse, his utter shame at his actions, but Legolas shook his head, turned away from him. "Please don't." He reached up, grasping at Aragorn's wrists to pull his hands away, dropping his hands as though burned. He turned to walk away.

"Legolas." Aragorn choked, "Please don't go... please."

He stopped, and Aragorn's heart faltered, brief hope flickering like a guttering candle, but Legolas just looked at him, eyes shining brightly and filled with something unnamed that made his heart break, he looked as though he might speak, but instead the silence stretched out with a hollow ache, shattering with the first footfalls as he finally turned, walking away with a slow and mournful stride, leaving Aragorn bereft and agonised, his heart frozen in his chest and breaking with every painful beat that seemed to echo in time to the sound of Legolas leaving him behind.


	15. Chapter 15

Aragorn wavered, his knees weak, heart in his throat. Anger and abhorrence hot in his veins as his pulse throbbed and ached throughout his body, making him tremble and shake. He was such a fool.

He felt torn, his instincts telling him to return to his study, but his heart yearning for him to follow, to seek him out and fall to his knees and beg his forgiveness. He stood at war with himself, breath heavy and stilted as he stared at the floor, hoping to gain some measure of calm by following the neat line of the flagstones.

Eventually his heart won out and he marched with purpose towards the end of the corridor, footsteps loud and echoing as he pulled up sharp before the guard, making him pause in the motion of opening the door that lead out onto the courtyard.

"Which way did he go?"

The guard didn't hesitate, no need to play dumb when there was little doubt to whom he referred. "I believe he took the path to the guest wing, my Lord."

Aragorn nodded, ducking quickly through the door and heading to the right, taking the darkened path, unsurprised that he would seek out some measure of familiarity within the confines of this strange city.

He passed one of the city boys, sent out each evening to light the lamps, glad of his work this night with his mind not fully on his path, rather on what lay at the end of it. How could he have been so blind as to not see how his rash actions would be perceived, the look of pained betrayal on the elf's face flickering behind his eyes and twisting his heart in an icy grip.

The guest wing was empty, the halls silent with all the others at the evening meal but he marched past each suite regardless, passing the little signs of life that spoke of his fellowship friends and the locked doors of empty rooms as he made his way to the furthest one, the one whose windows overlooked the gardens and gave the best view, the one he'd known that Legolas would appreciate the most.

There was no light coming from beneath the door but he did not doubt the elf's presence for a moment, knowing that he would not light the room until it were nearly dark. He raised his fist, hesitating for just a moment before he brought it down upon the wood, knocking loudly with an assurance that made his heart quicken and lurch.

There was no answer, just as he had expected, and whilst he felt a momentary panic to turn away, he fought it, his hand on the handle instead, turning it and smoothly opening the door, almost surprised to find that it wasn't locked.

"Legolas?" He breathed softly, closing the door behind him as he spied the elf by the window.

"Aragorn, leave." Legolas warned lowly, turning his face so he was in profile, silhouetted against the darkening sky outside.

Aragorn tensed, recognising the tone but equally dismayed and worried by the thickness in the others voice. "I came to beg forgiveness." He started, swallowing roughly against the sudden dryness in his throat as Legolas turned away from him again. "Please, I was a fool, I did not mean to hurt you." He said, imploring as stepped closer, moving into the fresh breeze that toyed with and lifted the gossamer curtain. "Legolas...?"

He wanted to reach out, to let his fingers run in a tender caress down his back, to feel him gentle and calm beneath his touch as he had the night before.

"Aragorn..." Legolas paused, something pained in the way his breath hitched. "Just go, please." He leant heavily against the window sill, face downturned and shrouded by the curtain of his hair, hiding him from Aragorn's concern.

"No." Aragorn whispered, edging closer. "I have wronged you." He said softly, breath held as he let his hand cover the elf's and wondering at the silence that hung thickly in the air. His touch was accepted, hand cool and unflinching beneath his own. "I should not have done what I did, nor said what I said. Please," he begged, "Forgive me."

Legolas said nothing, the silence nearly crippling as he stared out at the first of the stars pin pricking the sky, the mountains nothing more than a dark shadow gilded with a silver crest as the light from the newly risen moon shone down upon them. He dared to inch closer, expecting at any moment for Legolas to turn, to confront him with his fury as he reached to gather the hair that obscured his view, brushing it aside so he could see his face, the sharp pain in his chest tightening and choking him as he saw the shining tracks of tears on the elf's cheeks. "Legolas..."

He carefully traced the path of the tears, smoothing them away and turning Legolas to face him even as he closed his eyes, the perfect picture of misery and hurt. "It was cruel of me to let you think I thought so little of you." He whispered, both hands upon his face now. "That your father would ..." he stopped, the flinch that passed across the others face making him pause. Those dark eyes opened and Aragorn's heart fluttered even though they looked away, blinking in the cool night breeze and spilling forth another solitary tear that Aragorn immediately moved to wipe away.

"You are right though." Legolas whispered desolately, giving Aragorn's racing heart a start.

He frowned, "No." He muttered, his hands gentle as they stroked the tear dampened cheeks. "Legolas, no, I did not mean to make you think..."

"Not you." He was interrupted softly, voice broken and eyes pained as he finally met his gaze. "My father." He sighed.

Aragorn could see just how much it cost him to say the words, to admit to a pain that ran so deep that it made him physically shiver. It had always been somehow off topic, something they never spoke of, his life as Prince in his father's court and Aragorn had long ago learnt not to pry too far, not to ask any questions when the subject came dangerously close to those areas that caused the elf to feign ignorance or seek another focus. He'd not heard many good stories of Mirkwood's King, had been on the receiving end of his baleful ire on more than one occasion himself and he knew that there was little love lost between the forest people and those of Rivendell and Lorien. But these things he had always put aside in lieu of his friendship with the Prince, would happily receive any number of casual insults and cold remarks in order to spend just a moment at the archer's side.

But despite this, Legolas had always been staunchly defensive when called upon, never full of praise but vehement in denying his father's faults. "Melethron." He breathed.

"You were right to think he might approve such a request." Legolas said sadly, eyes dropping to focus instead on the fastening of Aragorn's shirt. "He values loyalty and allegiance as much as his wealth, much more than family."

Aragorn felt his stomach sink. "Hush, my love, that cannot be so." He said soothingly, stroking soft circles against his face.

Legolas breathed in deeply, accompanied by a twisted bitter smile, "Gandalf has already told you of how he had me planned for marriage." He met Aragorn's gaze, and he knew now why he'd never been told, that it hurt Legolas too deeply to think of how his father treated him. "He was disappointed when Lara died, not with her passing, but because of a lost opportunity." He grimaced, "and because I voiced my displeasure." He slowly brought his hand up to cover Aragorn's where it held his cheek, covering it as he turned his face into his palm so he could press into the warmth and strength within his touch. "I have no doubt he would welcome a union with Gondor, but not because of my wishes."

Aragorn's heart broke for him, he had never known his father, but trying to imagine being raised by one who held no regard for him as his son made him feel empty at just the thought. "I am sorry to have made you dwell on these thoughts." He murmured, sweeping aside a strand of hair caught on the breeze, "I have disgraced myself with my actions, and you have every right to cast me from your sight, but I beg you do not send me away, that I can somehow repair my callous behaviour."

Legolas smiled then, small and wavering as he placed his hand over Aragorn's heart. "You are here." He said softly, "That matters more than any word spoken."

Aragorn felt a strength in his resolve, a bright fire in his chest, burning with his adoration and devotion. "I promise you, that as long as you are by my side you will never once doubt that you are loved." He brought them close so that he could rest their heads together. "I will tell you every day, show you in every way possible." His voice trembled with his restraint, hands moving to circle the back of the elf's neck, warm beneath the fall of his hair. "I give you my word." He breathed, stepping closer so that barely an inch came between them, Aragorn's sigh of relief tumbling hot across the elf's lips as he felt Legolas' arms around his waist, hands flat on his back, urging him closer.

His eyes were dark, a faint glimmer of hesitation catching in the light of his tears as they flickered down to stare at his mouth, Aragorn's pulse throbbing at the nervous tension that made his voice tremor when he whispered, "Show me." And he had to hold back a groan as a thousand unbidden images flooded his mind, trying to focus instead on the way Legolas leant to capture his lips, rocking their bodies together.

He could not help the sound he made when fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him down into the glorious warmth of the elf's kiss, his entire body on fire as he pushed him backwards, two small steps and he could press him against the wall, his lithe body trapped as Aragorn bore down on him, the sudden hard friction between them making the elf gasp and Aragorn took the moment to deepen their kiss, moving from the slow and tender caress to something borne of hunger and heat, the hand in Aragorn's hair tightened, holding fast against the assault.

His head swam, lungs aching and he pulled away, breaking the kiss to drag in a ragged breath and focus instead on the tempting length of the other's neck, biting gently at the soft juncture of where neck met shoulder, turning the sigh the elf was breathing into a low growl, his body arching away from the wall and into Aragorn's in a way that made his mind fade into a hot white state of arousal, his hands moving to grip at Legolas' waist, holding him still as he ground their hips together, eliciting a ragged moan as the elf's head fell back, opening up more of his neck for Aragorn to press his face to, to breath him in and plant hot, open mouthed kisses to the flushed skin.

He whispered Legolas' name, his voice coloured with desire and wonder, seeking permission and being granted in the long, unhurried kiss he was dragged into, pulling them away from the wall as his hand fisted into golden hair, fingers snagging on the braids as they turned from the light at the window into the darkness of the room, their path unseen as they moved across the floor, drawn by instinct to the bed against the far wall.

Aragorn paused at the edge, his arm held tight around slender waist, his hand still holding back silken hair as he tried to see in the dark, finding and holding the shadowed gaze as he spoke lowly, "Are you sure?" his breath uneven and giving away his hunger. He felt the affirmation breathed across his lips, a soft and timid admission that made Aragorn loosen his hold, to stroke his finger tips over the gentle point of his ear, following its curve down to map the path of the elf's pulse thundering beneath his skin. "Have you ever...?" he stopped, thoughts lingering on how to confirm just how far he should take this.

He was saved though, the mournful utterance of "No," breathed out between them with face lowered in what Aragorn feared was embarrassment. "Not with a man." Legolas whispered, and Aragorn felt his heart lighten, bringing his hand to lift the face before him, to try and read the hidden look in the darkened eyes before he murmured "Nor I," claiming the soft lips in a gentle kiss, setting aside his doubt as his fervour took over, ardent desire dripping though him at the thought that he should be the first man to touch him, to make him sigh and lean into his touch, to cry out and grasp, and hold him tight.

Aragorn groaned, breaking the kiss shake his head, casting off these thoughts and kicking off his boots, holding on as Legolas did the same before he pushed them both onto the bed, guiding them down with a kiss, swallowing the pained gasp as his weight pressed the elf down, the covers soft and warm beneath them even though the air was cool.

Aragorn felt a smile upon his face, sitting back to kneel on the bed, hands smoothing up the legs draped across his thighs, settling around his waist as dark eyes followed his hands upwards, watching with unrepressed desire as they slowly unfastened the top loop of the night blue shirt, Aragorn's lips following their touch with small kisses, mapping each inch of skin opened up to him with worship and longing. He thought himself lost in a dream, taken in by fantasy at the feeling of fingers threading into his hair, holding him close as he dragged his lips down the hard lines of the elf's stomach, feeling each hurried and spent breath in the way he moved beneath him, his skin hot and smooth and intoxicating under his tongue, hands fisted in the shirt as he'd drawn it aside, revealing the body that had plagued his thoughts with indecent hopes and daydreams.

He was drawn up suddenly, lying flush against the hard body beneath him as Legolas kissed him, hard, hot and filled with a furious yearning, his hands against Aragorn's back, dragging up his shirt, breaking them apart for one agonising moment as Aragorn pulled it over his head, casting it aside before being pulled back down to the first glorious feeling of skin on skin contact, both of them sighing as they wound arms around one another, hands mapping the slope of shoulders, the curve of each other's waist in a desperate endeavour to feel all of the other at once, brief and hurried kisses, deep and yearning shared in the heated darkness.

Aragorn was thrown by the feeling of tears still fresh of the others cheek, like glistening tracks of silver in the pale light and he stopped, fingers tracing the cool skin. "Legolas?"

"Estel, please..." came the whispered response, slipping back to childhood names as Legolas reached to thread his fingers into Aragorn's hair, rising up himself to secure another kiss, but Aragorn was not swayed.

"Why do you cry?" He breathed, overcome with concern as he looked down upon the beloved face, holding him gently.

"Please Aragorn, do not worry yourself." He coaxed him back down, silencing him for a moment with a kiss that suddenly seemed to pull at his heart, made him ache with a sadness that made it hard to breath and he pulled away, wondering if he had somehow felt a reflection of what Legolas did, staring up at him in the dark with eyes wide and pleading.

"Tell me." He whispered, trailing his lips across the elf's cheek, kissing away his tears as he shivered and sighed, voice trembling in the dark as he spoke.

"I just... never thought..." his breathing hitched as Aragorn let his finger tips run the length of his arm, gathering up his hand to lace their fingers together as he pressed them into the pillow, slipping in a sea of golden hair as Legolas held on. "That I would ever feel like this..." He pressed his head back, giving more room for Aragorn to lick and suck and bite as he moved down his neck.

Aragorn closed his eyes at the simple wonder and elation in the elf's voice, letting his other hand wander in a lazy meandering path down the taut body, a low groan kept in check at the feel of muscle moving under skin as Legolas arched into his hand. "You did not think you would be ever able to follow your own heart?" he asked him quietly, enjoying the soft and hurried gasps as he shifted his weight.

"No." Legolas looked up at him through dark lashes, "Not when I knew it lay with you." He whispered and Aragorn felt himself break, overcome with a love that brought tears to his own eyes as he swiftly caught that perfect mouth in a deep kiss, desperate to rid the other of the creeping despair he heard in his voice, the bare remnants of pain that lurked within the depths of his eyes. He pulled the other close, pressing their bodies together as Legolas wound his legs round the back of his thighs, trapping him in the cradle of his hips so that when Aragorn moved to kiss his neck their bodies dragged together in such a way that it felt as though something electric had settled in his veins.

He rolled his hips, heart racing in his chest at the sounds the elf made, the way those elegant hands grasped at his back, nails carving red stripes into his skin as Aragorn hissed at the exquisite pain. He mapped the tight body again, hands and lips, tongue and teeth, biting and caressing every inch he could reach until he leant aside, his fingers sliding tantalisingly beneath the warm waistband as he slowly made a path for the knot of laces, tasting the impatient desire in hungered kisses and sweat glistened skin.

He made short work of undressing them both, his own demands giving rise to a renewed sense of urgency, looking down at the elf with a wicked glint in his eye as Legolas tangled his hands in his dark hair as he aligned himself, bringing them flush together, his hand wrapped around them both and almost finished from the way his name fell from Legolas' lips alone, his body arching up into Aragorn, face turned into the pillow, eyes shut tight as his fist curled in the sheets.

He was glorious in his pleasure, nothing in his wildest dreams could have ever prepared him for such a beautiful sight, every flicker of agonising bliss, every broken sound of elation pushing him higher, their fingers laced as he held their hand's above his head, stretching the elf out beneath him, Aragorn's mouth open and gasping against the flushed throat, his tongue lapping at the sweat that stood out on his skin, feeling the first blissful tendrils of ecstasy burning through his body.

He was close, so close, and he could feel it mirrored in the way those legs tightened around him, how the grip on his hair shifted and moved to his back, holding him as they built up a rhythm between them, breath short and burning, heart pounding as his name reached his ears as though a prayer whispered to the gods , the body beneath him suddenly tight and he turned his head, capturing Legolas with his kiss as together they tumbled from the edge of their rapture, a soft cry escaping between them though Aragorn could not tell if it came from one or both of them.

It seemed as though he floated, gliding gently upon golden clouds that filled his mind and body with exhilaration, every dark and despairing thought driven from his mind as arms folded themselves around his back, holding him in the warmth and tender grip of a loving embrace. "I love you." He muttered, the words muffled against damp skin and hair as he slowly came back to himself, propping himself up on his elbows to alleviate Legolas of his weight, wishing suddenly that he could see better in the dark as he gazed down at the stunning vision below him, his face more beautiful for its softness, eyes almost glowing as he gazed back up at him.

Aragorn smiled softly, fingers drifting over the face before him, pressing gentle kisses to his brow as he said quietly, over and over again "I love you." Until he was drawn into a gentle kiss, soft, unhurried and achingly perfect, pulling at his resolve until he felt himself tremble and break, rolling to the side and keeping Legolas within the circle of his arms as he turned, their legs tangled together and pulling at the sheets but he gave it no mind, everything he had within him focused on the man within his arms, trembling slightly even as Aragorn kissed his cheek.

"Do you doubt me now?" He asked gently, hands reaching down to pull at the sheet folded at the bottom of the bed, drawing it up over them to ward away the night air that made Legolas shiver in his embrace, brushing back the mussed hair from shadowed eyes at they looked up at him.

"Never." Came the whispered reply, eyes closed as he turned to press his face to Aragorn's chest, lips placing a kiss to where his heart continued to calm, it's frenzied beat claimed and owned by another, someone that could command him with a simple look, a breathed word. Aragorn felt himself smile at the trust within the gesture, pressing his own kiss to the golden tangle of hair, hoping that he had served him well, had made Legolas realise that he could never deny him the love he felt, and would gladly fight any who tried to stand in their way.


	16. Chapter 16

The sun had risen by the time Aragorn woke, sleep falling from him like a heavy blanket as he stretched and yawned, feeling as though every ounce of tension had been wrung from his overstrained body. He groaned happily, finding himself covered suddenly with the stunning vision of his Prince, eyes bright and smiling as he welcomed the new day with a soft kiss, drinking in Aragorn's contented sigh as he draped himself along his body, warm and naked beneath the covers.

"You slept well." Legolas murmured against his lips, a statement rather than a question and Aragorn knew that he had no doubt spent the night awake watching him sleep, smiling and sighing as Aragorn tiredly folded him into his arms, pressing his face into golden hair as he quietly slept.

"I don't think I have ever woken feeling so rested." He said, drowsy and heavy limbed as he brushed the golden tangle of hair back from the glowing face, heat pooling low in his stomach as he recalled how the elf had gotten so dishevelled. He reached down beneath the covers, arm tight around Legolas' waist as he pulled him close for another kiss, a gentle intensity sweeping through him, making him twist and writhe slowly.

The pounding at the door made him start, their kiss broken with an impatient sound.

"Legolas!?" Gimli's voice boomed through the door and they both tensed as the handle turned, the door creaking with the weight put behind it but it did not open, Aragorn breathing in exaggerated relief as he remembered locking the door.

"Legolas, are you up?" he pounded again, making sure that he would be should he have actually been sleeping.

Legolas swore, something low and disparaging in sindarin. "Yes Master Dwarf, I am up!" He called, rolling from Aragorn's arms, making him growl long and low at his loss as Legolas pulled one of the sheets from the bed, wrapping it haphazardly around himself as he crossed to the door, one finger to his lips to keep Aragorn from protesting, hastily dragging his hand through his hair in a futile attempt to calm it as he unlocked the door, opening it just a few inches to he could see the Dwarf at the door. "Yes?"

There was a moments silence and Aragorn could only imagine that the Dwarf stood in shock to see his companion so dishevelled, the normally calm and composed elf clearly having just been roused from his bed. There was a spluttering apology and then Gimli revealed his reason for his visit. "Faramir wished to speak with you, it appears that Aragorn is missing from his rooms and he is unable to find him." Gimli lowered his voice, clearly a little uncomfortable. "A guard said he saw Aragorn follow you after you argued." There was clearly a question layered in the explanation and Aragorn saw the elf's shoulders tense, grieving at the reminder of his insensitive words.

Legolas sighed. "You may tell Faramir that I will speak with him later if he so wishes." He said smartly, his tone betraying nothing of the fact that Aragorn was currently sprawled across his bed.

Gimli sputtered at the casual dismissal, "I fear that later will not suit him, his concern is great, as should yours be, Aragorn cannot be found." He said again, stressing his point so that Legolas could understand his urgency.

"Which is no doubt his intention." Legolas said calmly, adjusting the sheet casually to remind Gimli that he had disturbed him.

"Intention or not, he has caused something of a panic, and we should be doing all we can to help..."

"Gimli, no!" Legolas raised his voice in alarm as the door was swept further open, the Dwarf pushing him back into the room with the intention of hurrying him into dressing and accompanying him on his search. Legolas scrambled for the door, meaning to push the Dwarf away but he was too late, Gimli had strode into the room, hands on his hips in admonition as he stared up at the elf, a deep breath sucked in as he started to speak, another reproach on the edge of his lips before his eyes were drawn with an inevitable, unavoidable aim to land on Aragorn, motionless and frozen as he lay propped up in the bed, sheets tangled at his waist as he met the astonished wide eyed gaze.

The air seemed to be sucked from the room, Aragorn's heart seizing in his chest with a chill dread that rushed through him like ice water.

"Well." Gimli breathed, his voice high and awkward as he continued to stare. "I see you've found him." His cavalier remark effectively breaking the silence in the room and Aragorn rushed to sit, grasping at the sheets as he scrambled from the bed.

"Gimli..." He rushed, holding out his hand as though to ward off whatever bellow was sure to erupt from the reddened face, the dwarf suddenly looking everywhere but at the pair of them, his hands lost as he tugged at his collar, balancing them on his hips, fingers clenching. "Gimli, wait." Aragorn mustered as much authority as he could, voice low as he rushed to shut the door lest his voice be heard in the corridor, sure that if Gimli were looking for him here that others would be sure to follow.

Gimli was staring at the floor, his face flaming above his beard, matching both the colour and intensity. Aragorn paused, looking up at Legolas for help, finding him pale and wide eyed, his hands bunched in the sheet that he'd hefted up his around his chest, as though to hide himself as much as he could. "I should explain." He said weakly, completely unsure of where to start.

"I think I can guess." Gimli cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable.

"I'm sure you can" Aragorn muttered dryly, "But there is more to it than what you see." Aragorn winced, very aware of his state of undress. He licked at his dry lips, swallowing against the rising lump in his throat. "I love him." He whispered.

Gimli turned to look at him, his dark eyes usually hidden within the lines of his face now open and wide, his eyebrows raised in surprise, his lips moving as he made abortive attempts to speak, completely lost for words.

"I have done, for a long time."He added quietly, hoping that his admission would somehow keep the situation from becoming too vocal.

"But... but..." Gimli tugged on his beard, fiddling nervously with the braids. "The lady Arwen...?" He breathed, looking at Aragorn as though it had been him he'd betrayed.

"Is not coming." He finished for him, his shoulders bowed under the sudden weight of his guilt. "I have spoken with her." He murmured lowly, his face no doubt pained.

"I see." Gimli frowned in shock, looking around himself as he walked unsteadily to the chair tucked in by the desk, wresting it from its place and sinking down suddenly.

"Gimli?" Legolas slid gracefully to his knees, sitting before the dwarf and staring up at him with fearful eyes. "Gimli, speak." He asked, daring to lay his hand on the dwarf's knee.

Gimli heaved a heavy sigh, shaking his head as he blew it out, lips pursed as he looked down at the pale hand on his leg. "Well master elf," he said, shaken "You are certainly full of surprises." He whistled.

Legolas smiled, nervous and trembling as he waited for the dwarf's expression to change, for his judgement to pass. "A good surprise?" He asked hopefully, catching Aragorn's watchful gaze as he sat back on his knees, visibly trembling in a way that made Aragorn want to stroke his hand over his hair, to calm him and kiss his cheek to ease his worry.

"It's certainly an interesting turn of events." Gimli sat up a little straighter, turning his frown upon Aragorn. "This is why I've heard so many concerns of you being out of sorts?" he narrowed his eyes, finally upon the answer of a puzzle that had been dogging him for a while.

"You could say that." Aragorn nodded warily.

The silence continued to stretch out, the only sound the shrill morning song of the birds in the garden below breaking through the tension that hung thick in the air. "I think..." Gimli shifted, Aragorn holding his breath. "That perhaps you should both dress." He said gravely.

He stood and turned, facing the wall with his arms folded and his face downturned as he gave them the small measure of privacy needed to gather up their clothes, hastily pulling them on and tying laces with numb fingers as they glanced at one another with solemn expressions.

"Gimli my friend," Aragorn spoke quietly, standing straight after pulling on his boots. "Tell me, what is it you are thinking?" his could not hide his anxiety, for if his friends could not accept his choices then what hope did he have for the strangers of his city.

Gimli turned, looking over them both, visibly relaxing now they were both clothed. "I think you may have both taken leave of your senses." He huffed. "But I cannot believe this is something you have stumbled across lightly." He raised his brow, an explanation demanded in his straight backed stance.

"That is true." Aragorn conceded, feeling where Legolas let his gaze rest on his face, his cheeks warm and flushed. "Certainly, it is something neither of us set out to attain." He explained softly, "and the realisation of the depth of my affections for Legolas have indeed been a revelation, one long held in check, but no less serious for the closeness of my understanding."

"Faramir said you have called off your wedding." Gimli said clearly, understanding now that which had perplexed him. "I thought you were merely biding your time."

Aragorn lowered his gaze, shaking his head. "I regret the pain that I have caused Arwen." He said softly, his hand coming up to his chest to cover his heart. "Would it be that I could have spared her this, that she had taken my leave and sailed west as we had agreed before we ever left on this quest. But she understands, grieved as she is, that I could not let her live a lie with me."

"It is indeed quite a shock." Gimli planted his hands on his hips. "I would never have thought..." he shook his head, slowly looking each of them from head to foot, taking in their nervous glances, the way Legolas had his hands twisted together in front of him, the elf's eyes conveying his apprehension and fear. He harrumphed, rocking back and forth on his heels before his face suddenly creased, his great booming laugh filling the small room with his mirth and merriment.

Aragorn could have wept with relief, his breath bursting forth in a rush of release, looking over at Legolas who echoed the ease of his heart trembling worry, the elf's smile so bright in lieu of the chill of trepidation that had clouded the bedchamber. "Ho, Aragorn, you are certainly one to play by your own rules aren't you!" he stepped close and clapped Aragorn on the arm with a mighty slap, still chuckling loudly as he lightly punched the elf in a friendly manner, startling him. "And you! You have pulled the wool over my eyes, no easy feat!" He laughed, Aragorn meeting the elf's eye and trying not to laugh, knowing full well that the dwarf was far from the most observant of them.

"You are not dismayed at the news then?" Legolas asked, his hand rubbing his arm where Gimli had knocked him.

"Dismayed?" He bellowed, "And why should I be dismayed? Two friends have found happiness with each other, tis cause for celebration, not dismay!" he spread his arms, looking as though he would draw them both into an embrace at any second.

"You are not concerned that we are both men?" Aragorn asked, voice still tinged with disbelief at the dwarf's over joyous reaction.

"Tis no concern of mine." Gimli frowned, sobering suddenly. "But I am from a land whose tolerance is greater, having faced so much discrimination ourselves." Gimli bit at his lip. "I see that it is a concern to you though." He muttered, taking in Aragorn's pensive stance.

"More of people's reactions." He replied honestly, "I have to speak with Faramir today, to gauge just how the people of Gondor will react." He looked at Legolas, his fair head tipped to the side, eyes filled with an aching sadness at Aragorn's predicament, of the situation as a whole.

"We can only hope that they are as good to us as Gimli here," Legolas said, the hint of a sad smile lingering at the edges of his lips. He held out his hand for Aragorn to take, filling him with strength at the warmth of his touch and drawing the dwarf's gaze to their joined hands, the simple gesture of their affection anchoring his stare.

"Well, he'll be glad at least to know you've not disappeared into the night." Gimli said dryly. "The way he was speaking one would swear you'd been abducted from your bed. He has a number of people looking for you." He hefted a heavy look at Aragorn.

Aragorn sighed, his hand running through his hair. "I should find him now then." He said quietly, not relishing the idea of announcing to a room of stuffy officials the true reasons as to why he'd thrown their plans into disarray. He looked at Legolas, "You will come with me?" he pressed on the hand he held, feeling it tightened in return.

"You think that is wise?" He answered with a frown.

Aragorn shrugged. "I think I want you there." He said softly, the disquiet he felt in his heart somewhat eased at the thought of the elf being by his side. "Please?"

Legolas bit at his lip, his face tight with indecision. "If that is what you wish."

Aragorn nodded, a measure of relief in his smile, his mind beginning to race along with his heart. "I'll need to find Gandalf too." He looked at Gimli, hoping the dwarf would be able to help.

"I saw him last in the hall at breakfast." He told them. "I shall find him and tell him you are looking for him." He looked up at Legolas. "I think perhaps you should take the time to make yourself more presentable." He waved his hand in a manner that suggested his hair was in a total state of disrepair, causing the elf to blush a furious shade of red, his hands already reaching to tame the tangled braids.

Aragorn laughed and ran a hand through his own hair, stepping towards the door and opening it as Gimli turned to leave. He stopped the dwarf with a light touch to his shoulder, hoping that his eyes would convey just how grateful he was for his friend's acceptance as he whispered, "Thank you."

Gimli smiled, eyes crinkling until they were almost shut as he placed his hand on Aragorn's forearm, patting him lightly. He said nothing, merely gave a short bark of laughter, making Aragorn smile again as he passed him, turning in the doorway to give them both a short bow, his boots echoing in the corridor as he strode away, leaving Aragorn to close the door behind him with a great sigh of relief.

"That was certainly better than I had expected." He breathed, crossing the short distance to draw Legolas into his embrace, holding him close as he closed his eyes.

"He has a good heart." Legolas agreed, his hands flat against Aragorn's back as he turned to press his face to Aragorn's neck.

He drew back, holding the clear, bright eyes with his own, tracing the sharp line of the elf's jaw with the back of his hand. "That he does." He murmured. "But now we face our next challenge." He felt his face drawn with gravity, turning his hand to cup the warm cheek in his hand, his thumb caressing over soft skin. "Let us hope that they are also as generous as our friend." He wished.

"Have faith my love," Legolas whispered, leaning forward to press his lips to Aragorn's in a gentle, tender kiss. "I will be with you."

Aragorn smiled, soft and full of love at the beautiful man before him, brushing back the hair from his face, his fingers tangled in a knot and he frowned in amusement. "First though, we should really do something about your hair." He laughed, a quick kiss to the elf's blushing cheek before he set off to look for a comb.


	17. Chapter 17

The candles in the council chamber flickered heavily in the cool drafts, heavy drapes drawn across the windows in view of privacy, not that anyone could get near, the room itself was guarded from afar, but it did well to keep the echo of their voices inside.

Aragorn sat in the centre of the wide length of the table, Gandalf to his right, with Legolas on his other side, Faramir sitting directly opposite, eyes passing back and forth between the three of them in front of him, frowning lightly, his fingers turning over the quill in his hands over and over again as he fidgeted, waiting on edge for the other's to arrive.

Aragorn had found him quickly, both guilty and amused at the relief and infuriated ire that had been clear upon the stewards face as he'd caught up with him in a courtyard, apologising for his absence and for causing concern before asking him to call the forth a meeting with the four high officials, Faramir as steward, the keeper of laws, the people's speaker and the head of the city council.

He waited for them now, the silence creeping as he watched the sand on the time keeper pour through in its steady stream, another hour coming to a close, in a another minute or so a page would appear as if from the air to turn it over, tapping the glass so it ran smoothly before stepping into the shadows once more, face down turned and face blank, carefully ignoring every word spoken as he'd been trained to do.

Aragorn sipped from his glass, the sweet tang of the summer wine cool and crisp in his mouth as he met Gandalf's shrewd stare over the rim of the cup. He'd not had to give much of an explanation or reason to beg his presence, had merely had to turn and direct his gaze meaningfully to the elf at his side for Gandalf to smirk knowingly and follow him without word into the cool halls.

As if on cue the doors opened, the handle held open by a mute guard as three med ambled into the room, speaking together in hushed voices as they approached the table, pausing briefly to see Aragorn's guests. They inclined their heads, pulling out their chairs with a harsh scrape of wood upon stone before they settled, Marteen, the council head, reaching forward to fill his glass from the pitcher. "So good to see you safe my Lord," he intoned with an obsequious little smile, glancing askew at Faramir who seemed to bristle. "Our steward here very nearly had the entire city guard out looking for you." He sat back in his chair and fixed Aragorn with a smirk that immediately irked him.

He'd been told by Faramir that Marteen had been a loyal supporter of his father, the system of the steward's rule had suited his ideals and his lifestyle. Aragorn was under the impression he felt somewhat threatened.

"Merely exercising my right to privacy." Aragorn canted his head, meeting his eye and smirking right back, watching with a satisfied pleasure as the lips twitched, losing their curl. "Which leads us to this meeting." He said calmly, sitting up straight in the high backed chair. "I have been here now for several weeks, I've observed your customs, read up on treaties and laws. Faramir has been instrumental in my understanding of this land and its people." Here he tipped his head, smiling warmly at the steward who looked at him in astonished regard, clearly not expecting the outward praise. He breathe deeply, holding his breath for a moment and feeling it stretch in his lungs before releasing it in a sigh. "I fear that perhaps I may not be the leader you have been expecting." He said levelly, taking the time to look each of them in the eye, all of them blank and waiting for him to continue. He wanted to roll his eyes. "That is to say, I've not lived my life in preparation for a throne." They continued to stare at him. "And that I may be a little more...relaxed, than what you might be used to."

Next to him Gandalf stirred. "I think what Aragorn is trying to say," He looked askance at Aragorn, "Is that you may have to be prepared for a somewhat different method of rule." He said, voice gravelly and full of mild authority.

"Thank you Gandalf." Aragorn nodded, meeting Faramir's frank gaze head on.

"And just what is it we should expect?" The people's speaker asked slowly, leaning back in his chair with a wary expression. Aragorn looked at him, a kindly man, elected by the citizens to voice their concerns. Damon was currently in his forty sixth year as speaker, testimony to his popularity.

"No great changes." Aragorn appeased him with a considerable twitch in his stomach, wondering whether he was lying or merely hoping. "Just the opportunity to share the responsibility with those who have long held Gondor's interests at the centre of their hearts." He smiled at all four of them, his meaning clear and they all sat a little straighter in their chairs.

"Gandalf has offered to keep his wonderings close by over the coming years." He turned to nod his thanks to the wizard, unable to convey in a becoming manner his utter gratitude.

"And Legolas will be staying as my advisor on royal commission." He said brightly.

There was an odd tense moment as all eyes were drawn to the elf, appraising him mildly. None of them having had a chance to formally greet him before their impromptu meeting. Aragorn chanced a quick glance to his left, a brief flicker of his eyes taking in the veiled surprise as the elf leant forward, voice low as he spoke in his native language. _"I really think that these are the kind of things you should advise me of before announcing them to a room full of strangers." _He admonished lightly, keeping his tone casual for the sake of their company.__

_"And risk you saying no?" _Aragorn smiled.__

"You are instating the role of King's Hand?" Marteen interrupted, eyes steadily moving between Aragorn and Legolas, his tone even. Aragorn nodded. "A role that is usually filled by the steward, is it not?" The councilman turned in his chair to look at Faramir who met his cool gaze with a lax expression.

"We've not had a King for generations." A small voice interrupted, the old and shrivelled keeper speaking over his folded arms, chin buried in the cowl of his robes. "The position of hand and advisor is not always held by the steward, rather it is appointed to a person in the Kings trust." His clouded grey eyes settled on Legolas.

Marteen nodded his understanding, the ingratiating little smirk pulling at the corner of his lips and Aragorn could feel himself bristle at the sight. "With all due respect my Lord," he leaned forward, sliding his arms on the table as though to suggest that they spoke only with each other, the others forgotten, "You think a forest dweller the best advisor for the King of men?"

Aragorn felt the cool rush of dislike pour into his veins, indignation burning behind his eyes and he saw Gandalf flinch in the corner of his vision, the wizard just as taken aback as he was. "Councillor Marteen," he said coldly, "Whilst he does not wear his crown, Legolas has been a Prince of his realm for more than a thousand years, and has long been held in my highest regard, there is no one better suited to the role. You would do right to show him some respect." Aragorn ground out his rebuke through gritted teeth, meeting the cold stare and feeling every muscle in his body screaming at the restraint he felt to keep himself from reaching across the table and wiping away the smirk with a violent gesture. He felt a light touch to his arm, grounding and settling in its contact and he relaxed back into his chair, briefly glancing at Legolas who met his eye with his own look of understanding and warning.

"Careful." He whispered lightly, drawing his hand away but leaving his heavy gaze to anchor the man.

Aragorn nodded, a sigh of vexation escaping him. "I think I may have underestimated this." He countered gravely.

"Maybe not." Gandalf inferred, inclining his head the other side of the table where the other three men were watching with a quiet admiration as the elf calmed their suddenly incensed King with nothing more than a gentle touch and a quiet word.

Aragorn shifted in his chair, looking down at his hands which were curled into fists on the table top, he breathed out slowly, unfurling his fingers and calmly laying them down, palms flat against the warm wood as he felt his heart thump in his chest, his pulse deafening in his ears as he cleared his throat.

"This brings us to another, perhaps more pressing matter." He said awkwardly. Not looking up from his hands, worried that if he lifted them from the table they would see how he trembled. "You are all aware that I have called off my wedding to the lady Arwen."

Faramir's expression changed to one of captivated interest, the promised explanation as to why he'd been roused at an ungodly hour with the future Kings request now at hand.

"I wish to discuss what consequences there would be should I not marry." He looked between the law keeper and the people's speaker. "I'd like to understand in regards to heirs, the people's expectations..."

All four of them looked at Aragorn in concern before shooting bemused glances at each other, eyeing each other up as though to decide who should be the one to speak, Faramir finally relenting. "My Lord," He started slowly, carefully choosing his words, "I understand that it is a recent decision, and that you are undoubtedly saddened by such a turn of events, but there are many years before you yet." He smiled tightly, obviously uncomfortable with his attempt to impart some sort of compassionate brotherly wisdom.

Aragorn merely sighed sharply. "Thank you Faramir for your confidence, but I am fairly certain in this. I will not be marrying, I will not be in the..." He cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks begin to glow, "position, to produce heirs." He drummed his fingers against the table top. "I understand that it is unheard of for a King to willingly deny the chance for his name to be passed on, but..." and here he looked at the keeper of laws "I am certain that in the past this situation must have occurred through situation and circumstance?" he raised his eyebrow in an undisguised hopeful manner.

"Well," Cardearon sputtered, unfolding his arms to steeple his fingers together, tapping them together as he regarded Aragorn. "Of course, that is true, and on such occasions the crown is passed down to the eldest male, be it brother or nephew." He looked briefly at Faramir then back to Aragorn. "But it is my understanding my Lord, that you are the last in your line." He added with grave enquiry.

Aragorn bit down on his tongue, using the brief moment of pain to focus his mind. "And then...?" He prompted.

The law keeper floundered, mouth working around words he struggled to voice. "That has happened only once before my Lord, when the line of Kings was broken and passed into the hands of the stewards."

Aragorn nodded. "So the city will not suffer for my choices." He breathed.

"But the stewards cannot rule as King." Faramir pointed out unnecessarily, "They can only be appointed to guard the throne, to uphold the laws until a rightful heir comes forth."

"If you don't mind me asking my Lord..." Marteen leant forward in his chair, a sharp frown etched on his brow. "Why is it you are so certain you will not marry... or provide Gondor with the heir she needs?"

Aragorn felt his stomach sink, hoping that they would somehow manage to bypass this question as they became lost in the fine print of succession, but the calculating edge to the councillors smirk let Aragorn know that he'd been deliberating his own theories from the moment he'd heard of Aragorn's spur of the moment withdrawal from his plans of marriage.

He braced his hands on the edge of the table, pushing himself back in his chair for a moment as he tried not to notice how both Gandalf and Legolas looked at him from either side. "Right..." He stalled for a moment, swallowing roughly as he dared to glance at Legolas, taking strength from the elf's unwavering gaze, fierce love and pride undisguised in the depths of his eyes. He turned back to face his audience, focusing on his steward, taking comfort in his familiarity and the empathetic consideration on his face.

"Because the one that I do love I am unable to marry by the laws of man, and even if I were the question of an heir would never be raised." He said quietly, watching the frown deepen of Faramir's face as he tried to understand what Aragorn implied. There was a horrible pause, the silence seeming to suck the light and life from the room as they all stared at him unreservedly, and then slowly, quietly Marteen started to laugh, a dry chuckle that developed into a throaty hoot, making the hair on the back of Aragorn's neck stand on end.

"Perfect." He said silkily, "Our saving grace, an enamoured lover of men." His lips quirked upward in a sickening smile as he settled back in his chair, eyes level and holding Aragorn's mute stare. "And exactly whose company should we have to explain to the people of this city?"

Aragorn swallowed, throat dry and tight, his grip on the edge of the table turning his knuckles white as he angled his face to look obliquely at Legolas, seeing the pale hands twisted together in the elf's lap with his own nerves, his gaze lowered as Aragorn let his own linger on the startling beauty.

Across the table Marteen snorted, mirthless and disdainful. "The elf?" he laughed, a haughty look on his face as he swivelled his almost gleeful eyes between Aragorn and Legolas, watching them as they both fell under the astonished gawks of the other officials.

"Aragorn, is this true?" Faramir breathed, frozen in his seat, eyes wide,

Words were lost to him as Aragorn pulled his hands onto his lap, fingers bruising as they gripped at his knees and all he could do was nod, unable to refute that which had rendered them all speechless.

"And you intend to have him instated as a member of your court?" Marteen scoffed, a faint look of outrage passing across his face as he straightened in his chair, fixing Aragorn with a challenging look. "You come to this land, never heard of before, drag our troops into your war, to follow your cause and then return to claim the throne with no intent of succeeding your legacy... "He turned to look at the other officials, voice rising as he stretched out his hand, "and he expects us to take authority from this foreign whore!"

Aragorn shot from his chair, the colour draining from his face. "Councillor!" his shout echoed sharply from every corner of the room, amplifying his sudden rage. "Hold your tongue." He seethed. Beside him Legolas was also on his feet, a vitriolic curse falling from his lips that would have made their ears bleed had they understood him, fury radiating from him in waves and if they'd thought he was a gentle, demure creature they were proved inherently wrong by the blistering fire in his eyes. Aragorn flashed him a look, begging him with his eyes to sit down as he slowly leant forward to lean on the table, his eyes dark and voice quiet. "You have forgotten yourself councillor."

"It seems I am not the only one." Marteen countered darkly, rising himself to Aragorn's level, the air crackling around them.

He opened his mouth to speak, lips curling in distaste before Gandalf interrupted smoothly. "Perhaps we should all calm down a little." He said smoothly, hand reaching out to lightly touch Aragorn's wrist, drawing him back so he would stand straight, eyes never once leaving the arrogance smeared across the twisted face before him. "Maybe take in some fresh air." He directed this at Aragorn who finally wrested his gaze to land on the wizard, blood still boiling.

Gandalf rose from the table, indicating the door at the end of the room, waiting as though he were asking, not telling Aragorn to leave, recognising the anger in him. Aragorn growled, a snarl twitching his lips as he stalked from his seat, the barest flicker of his eyes requesting Legolas to join him, completely unwilling to leave him alone in a room with these people. He didn't notice how the others all floundered, rushing to rise and bow out of respect and habit, his focus only on the odious little man that had set him aflame with his repulsive remarks. Grinding his teeth he followed Gandalf from the room, nails carving lines into the palms of his hands as he fisted them by his side.


	18. Chapter 18

Aragorn paced like a caged animal, fists flexing, biting down on his lip to stop himself from swearing as he counted his steps between the corridor wall and the archway that looked out over a courtyard, a picturesque window to the outside world and letting the sun pour through, its rays warm on his back as he turned to march back to the wall again. _"That repugnant, odious little man!" _He growled, deliberately speaking in elvish, aware of the guard posted outside the door he had all but kicked open on the way out.__

_"Calm down Estel." _Legolas said quietly drawing Aragorn's concerned gaze, reading the tightness of the elf's face as he stood still, arms folded in the shadow of the archway's divide.__

Aragorn stopped, _"Calm down?" _he flung his arm out towards the door. _"The man insults you!" _____

_"The man is threatened." _Gandalf muttered lowly, folding his hands into the sleeves of his robes and regarding Aragorn with a heavy eye. _"As you should have expected." _He raised his brow when Aragorn rounded on him. _"He is right in one regard, you are not known to them. They have lived under Denethor's mercurial rule for years, have come to expect the tyrannical ramblings of a want to be dictator." _He looked acutely at the door guard whose eyes snapped back to their unfocused stare on the wall in front.______

_"It is one thing to call my honour into doubt," _Aragorn fumed, _"but I will not be idle about slights against his character." _He gestured towards Legolas who was keeping his focus towards the floor.____

_"Not everyone will be accepting Aragorn." _Gandalf countered sharply, as though pointing out a fact that should have been starkly obvious, and making Aragorn pull up sharply before him.__

_"I know that." _He whispered vehemently, pain in his admission. He sighed quickly, hand in his hair as he shook his head, turning on his heel and walking back to the archway. He stopped in front of Legolas, wanting to put a hand on his folded arms, to bring the guard down. _"My love." _He breathed, waiting for Legolas to wrest his attention away from his boots, meeting Aragorn's gaze with a closed expression.____

Aragorn drummed his fingers against his leg, wanting nothing more than to walk away, to saddle up and ride out into the glorious summer's day, Legolas at his side to live a life free from the weight on his shoulders. _"Just give me the word, and I'll have him executed." _He said seriously, eyes soft as he tried to lighten the mood, his efforts rewarded by the gentle lift of the elf's lips, the storm in his eyes settling.__

_"Your first official act as King?" _He asked dryly.__

_"You would only have to ask." _He smiled fondly, aware of Gandalf rolling his eyes. His fingers itched to trace that shy smile, to caress the soft line of his cheek, and he felt his hand rise of its own volition, drawn up beyond his will and almost tracing the inviting warmth when the door to the council room swung open, Faramir's boots heavy on the stone as Aragorn snatched his hand away.__

"My lord?" He approached them warily, anxiety in his eyes as he looked between the three of them. "My apologies for councillor Marteen." He said breathlessly, seemingly fearful of Aragorn's reaction.

"It is not for you to apologise." Aragorn muttered sternly.

Faramir shook his head, "Even so, his rashness is unbecoming of a city council leader, his words unjust." He looked to Legolas. "I express my regret your Grace." Aragorn watched with disappointment as the calm mask slipped quietly over the elf's face again as he nodded his acquiescence.

"I have reprimanded him, and bid him keep a civil tongue." He swept his hand aside in invitation to join him, Aragorn bristled at the thought of returning to the council room. "Before we rejoin, might I speak with you?" He asked quietly, eyes lowered away from the others.

"You may speak." Aragorn said plainly, eyeing up the abashed look and the twist of his mouth as he inclined his head to indicate that he wished to speak with him alone. Aragorn sighed, tempted to refute him but too aggrieved already to fight, he followed Faramir a little further down the corridor, hands planted on his hips as he met the steward's hard gaze.

"My lord," He started, "There is no doubt that this comes as something of a surprise." Aragorn clamped his mouth shut, watching, waiting. "Your... relationship, with another... man," He paused, seeming to struggle with the idea, "It is not something that is publically... celebrated, or indeed sought after at all."

Aragorn felt his stare darken, his shoulders squaring.

"That is to say," Faramir added swiftly, "It is not common practice, and Marteen's reaction is one of shock and surprise, we would never have expected such a revelation," He glanced up nervously at Aragorn, taking in the storm grey eyes, "Especially from one who would be king." He said quietly.

"Just what is it you are trying to say Faramir?" Aragorn asked lowly.

The steward shook his head, hands raised to placate the man before him. "I give no judgement my Lord," he said quickly, "Just advice." He dropped his hand, looking deeply uncomfortable before he sighed, biting at his lip as he looked up at Aragorn frankly. "I fear that the council leader may have a valid point." He admitted tartly, as if the notion did not sit well with him at all. "You are not accustomed to the ways of our people, your years among the elves and the people of the wild may have prepared you for more tolerable ideals, but I fear you may be overwhelmed by the politics and petty struggles of life within the royal court." Aragorn frowned at the dispassionate colour in the steward's voice, the same darkness that clouded his eyes when he spoke of his father passing across his face.

"So what is your advice?" Aragorn asked smartly, feeling a tightness in his chest.

"Merely a measure of reserve my Lord." Faramir said gently, "These are trying days with much change before us, it is perhaps best not to change too much at once." He said slowly, eyebrows raised as he wordlessly conveyed his meaning to Aragorn.

Aragorn sighed roughly, "I understand." He muttered, the words tasting like a betrayal on his tongue. He looked aside at his companions, heart fluttering in his chest at being the quiet focus of the elf's blue gaze. "We should resume." Anxious as he was to be done with the whole encounter.

Faramir nodded, leading them back into the cool room with only a small smile when Legolas questioned his intelligence by insisting he join them, calming the cool ire in his eyes with a gentle hand on the small of his back.

They reclaimed their seats quietly, Aragorn holding Marteen's malevolent stare with his own cool look of animosity as he silently settled back, aware that all eyes were on them.

They spoke of small, inconsequential things for a while, skirting around the major issues with a diplomacy that took Aragorn's breath away, listening to the citizens excitement and hopes now that they would have a King, how the structure of the councils would change without a stewards rule, facts, figures and ideals that sought to smooth over the harsh words still fresh in their minds.

They were drawing to a close, the morning nearly over with little now to speak of when Aragorn cleared his throat, curling his hand into a fist and trailing his knuckle lightly over his lip, meeting each set of eyes with gravity. "I thank you all for coming today." He said quietly, hand falling into his lap."Your insights have been most valuable." He looked at the ancient keeper and the people's speaker, both of whom had enamoured themselves into the man's heart with their outspoken love of their country and city, with their honour in their jobs and serving the people. "As for the reason I had called you here." He narrowed his eyes briefly as Marteen straightened minutely in his chair. "I have been advised by our steward that perhaps too much change for our people would be... detrimental to them at such a challenging time." He watched his fingers play along the table edge, swallowing down the impulse to throw aside Faramir's advice, his instinct to fight warring with his common sense. "As such, it would no doubt be best to... exercise a sense of restraint." He looked at Faramir who met his eye with something that could almost pass as guilt.

He pushed his chair back, acknowledging the end of the meeting. "I shall see you all for this evenings feast." He nodded, dismissing them as they all stood, short, sharp little bows across the table, lingering stares on man, elf and wizard.

"My Lord." Faramir called to him before Aragorn could turn away. "My Lord, there was a reason I looked for you this morning."

Aragorn straightened, hands on the back of the chair he'd been sat on. He nodded for the steward to continue, curiosity piqued.

"Before he turned back, the Lord Elrond sent someone ahead with a number of belongings of yours and your companions; I thought you would have liked to know."

Aragorn nodded, turning to glance aside at the others, stomach jolting just at the mention of his foster father's name, making a wall of nauseating guilt wash at the already crumbling walls of his resolve. This day was serving to be a real test for him.

"I've put them all in one of the guard room antechambers," Faramir motioned over his shoulder.

"Go ahead." Gandalf murmured, brushing his hand away in a dismissing manner, "I have a number of things to attend to."

Aragorn shrugged lightly, a questioning look aimed at Legolas who nodded mutely, joining him as he rounded the table and they both followed Faramir as they made their way out of the halls. The sun was bright in the sky overhead, the warmth almost too much for Aragorn under the heavy raiment's he wore.

They walked together silently through the upper levels, unheeded by the guards that stood quietly at every door, gateway and arch, their faces beaded with sweat beneath the helmets of their station as they stared blankly ahead of them, silent sentinels in the even quieter streets.

They came to one of the upper level guard rooms, weapons and supplies for their levels towers all stored neatly against the walls. Faramir fumbled in one of his pockets, hand closing around a large key which snugly fit the lock in the next door over, opening wide into a small stone room, currently empty save for three large chests. He passed the key to Aragorn. "When you are done, one of the guards will have them delivered to the correct rooms." He said softly, turning away but pausing before he could leave. He stood still for a moment before turning back to face Aragorn. "For what worth my opinion has my Lord, there is something about you that seems much... freer." He smiled quickly at both him and Legolas, bowing shortly before striding away, leaving Aragorn to watch his retreat with an odd tug pulling at his heart.

"Aragorn?" Legolas called softly, already kneeling before one of the chests and looking up at him with a soft gaze.

He shook his head, drawn further into the room and bending to open the closest chest, its contents varied and piled deep atop one another. Everything they had left behind in Rivendell.

He came across a pale silk banner, something he had no recognition of and he pulled it out, unfurling its length and watching with grim fascination as the sigils of Gondor unravelled across the cold stone floor, the stitches neat and uniform, unwavering dedication in every needle strike. He recognised her work as much as he recognised her handwriting and Aragorn blanched at the thought that Arwen had spent countless hours dedicated to creating such a work of beauty, just for him.

He gathered it back up with trembling hands, trying not to notice how Legolas looked at him, unprepared to meet the sympathy he would no doubt find in the elf's eyes. He put the banner aside, rolled up and tied, most likely never to be looked upon again.

He pushed aside shirts of mail, heavily embroidered tunics, a short wine coloured cloak that must belong to Gimli, even though he'd never seen the dwarf wear it. His fingers brushed over a shallow wooden box, a ring of leaves filigreed in gold within the warm coloured wood, catching the meagre light as he pulled it up from the bottom of the chest. He worked the small catch, opening the box and watching the light sink into the soft red velvet that cushioned the inside, holding the simple gold diadem within. He sank back, feeling heavy all of a sudden, cold and miserable despite the warmth of the day as he reached a finger to gently trace the shining crown.

Beside him Legolas froze, watching Aragorn as his eyes took on a faraway look, unseeing as he numbly passed the box to its owner, carefully lifting it from its confines and held lightly in elven hands, graceful and elegant.

He seemed different somehow, now that Aragorn really looked at him, more human. There was a tiredness in him, in the line of his back, the slight bend of his shoulders and the tightness around his eyes, he seemed so distant from the world, out of place surrounded by stone and manmade rooms. He was a creature of the world, of sunlight and open fields, of trees and rivers and laughing in the breeze. He looked caged, Aragorn reflected, taken from the wild and put on display for all to see. He did not belong here, was not made for cities and stone.

"I'm sorry." Aragorn said, voice devoid of all emotion as he watched Legolas turn his crown within his hands, eyes captured on the way the light reflected from its surface as though he'd never seen it before, as though he hadn't worn it for the past thousand years.

"Sorry?" Legolas whispered softly, turning his face to meet Aragorn as he looked away.

Aragorn turned around, slumping with his back against the open chest, resting his elbows on his knees as he rubbed his hands over his face, feeling wretched. "I have dragged you into this political upheaval without so much as asking if it was what you would want." He looked miserably at his hands as they hung down between his knees. "I have forgotten myself... forgotten that you have your own life." He glanced briefly at the crown now resting in the elf's lap. "And I do all this knowing that we will face hardship, that there will be struggles that neither of us may overcome." He shook, courage failing. "I have been a fool."

Legolas placed the circle of gold back within the safety of its box, securing the clasp with a resolute sound and gently laid it upon the floor before he leaned over, stretching the length of his body to close the door, letting it shut with almost a slam, blocking out the sunlight and the gentle noise of birdsong from outside.

"Aragorn." He breathed gently, moving closer to sit beside him, one hand on Aragorn's arm, warm and gentle through his shirt. "If you had asked me, I would have stayed, regardless." He said softly, drawing the man's gaze as he looked hopefully up into the gentle compassion in the elf's eyes. "Even if you had married Arwen." He held his hand gently to Aragorn's cheek, a sad smile lingering on his face.

Aragorn felt his heart twist painfully at the knowledge, that Legolas had been willing to remain by his side with his love unrequited, simply to be in his presence. He lifted his hand, fingertips barely brushing the soft warmth of the pale cheek before him, an all encompassing reverence for the man before him rushing through him, heart maddening in his chest. "You are beautiful, do you know that?" Aragorn asked breathlessly, eyes roving over the perfection of his countenance.

Legolas smiled, soft and shy. "I have been told." He said quietly, "But from your lips, I truly believe it."

"I do not deserve you." Aragorn breathed, trailing his touch over soft lips.

Legolas clasped Aragorn's hand within his own, the barest hint of a frown as he pulled it away from his face to hold gently in his lap, leaning in close so that when he whispered the words reached his ears as a wistful caress. "You deserve peace my love, and happiness and everything in between. And if I can do any of this for you, then I will count myself honoured." He pressed a gentle kiss to Aragorn's lips, slow and sultry, making him sigh and relax as he reached his hand to the back of the elf's neck, bringing him closer so that he placed a hand upon Aragorn's chest to stop them both from falling.

"I fear now that this life would be unjust to you." Aragorn whispered, heads resting together.

"Estel," There was a gentle laugh in Legolas' voice, "Any life that I could spend by your side would be more than anything I could have ever hoped to dream of." He sat back, looking at Aragorn with an open look. "Life will always hand you struggles, but we will manage them."

"But to hide what we have...?" Aragorn shook his head, the idea paining him.

"For now." Legolas murmured, "But not always." His eyes shined with a hope that lifted Aragorn's spirit, holding him captive in the safety and security of his comforting gaze. Legolas shifted, rising gracefully to his feet and offering his hand, pulling the man to his feet and holding fast even though he stood unwavering. "Come, we have a ball to prepare for." The elf smiled widely, "and tomorrow you will be King." He said it in such a way to set Aragorn's mind at rest, the clammy fear and cold sweat that usually pricked at his skin with the thoughts of his brow weighted beneath the crown vanishing as he held the elf's hand, bringing it up to his lips to press a gentle, fleeting kiss to ivory skin.

They left silently, only speaking quickly to one of the nearby guards before walking together through the halls, the wooden box tucked neatly beneath Legolas' arm as they neared the point where they should part, lingering for a moment without a word, only a meaningful look passing between them as they turned away from each other.

Aragorn watched him go, stepping out into the sunlight to walk the paths back to the guest wing. The sunlight caught the elf's hair, reflected like a halo of spun gold, his desire and love for him almost painful, pulling at his heart, making his breath short as he followed every step, eyes unwilling to look away until the elf turned a corner and was lost from view, and even then he lingered, the soft hint of a smile playing at his lips, eyes half closed until a passing guard stopped hesitantly to ask if he were alright. Aragorn nodded, startled, and carried on his way, for once looking forward to the festivities of that evening.


	19. Chapter 19

When the sun finally slid behind the horizon, darkness enveloping the world in her ink blue folds, the feast began, Aragorn's toast to the end of his life as a man, and the beginning of life as King stirring the hearts of all gathered with his humility. The candles were lit, bathing the hall with a festive glow, glittering from chandeliers, from gold and silver plates and mirrors that hung on the pale walls. The food was plentiful and divine, enjoyed by all as well as the wine, the perfect accompaniment to the stories regaled, of battles re-enacted with spirited animation by Merry and Pippin, of outlandish feats of heroism remembered by Gimli, boisterously gloating about his besting Legolas in their count for orc kills.

Aragorn felt truly at home for the first time since he had set foot within the white walls, relaxed as he sat back in his chair, simply enjoying the company of his friends, being able to converse at length with Eomer who had stayed to see him crowned, pretending not to notice the long, low looks that passed between Faramir and Eowyn.

He felt warm, relaxed and comfortable, a slow and lazy smile on his face as he listened and watched, eyes always finding their way back to Legolas who sat beside him, heartbreakingly beautiful in pale blue silk, hair loosely tied and the band of gold upon his brow, eyes alight with joy as he smiled and laughed, happy to add to the already embellished stories. Aragorn slowly shifted his leg, his knee pressing against the elf's thigh underneath the table and Aragorn took pleasure in seeing the darkness that shadowed Legolas' eyes, the subtle glare turned to him that both amused and aroused him. He had been sorely tested this night, the wine and the way the light bathed the elf's porcelain skin addling his brain, turning everything into a dream like blur.

At length the tables were cleared and they were called to dance, music filling the air as the guests lined up, taking their partners by the hand and smiling with obvious glee as the hobbits joined in, the steps unknown but not dampening their efforts as they spun each other around the floor.

"Such a wonderful sight to see, is it not?" Legolas said quietly, only just heard over the sound of music and clapping.

Aragorn smiled, foot tapping along as he watched the couples turn and sway. "It is," he agreed, "I admit, there were times when I thought that we might never see another day such as this." He looked closely at the elf, at the serene look upon his face as he watched the dance, Aragorn's smile widening as Legolas turned, drawn to his gaze as though he knew he was being watched. Aragorn grinned, turning back to the floor, eyes caught and stomach jolting unpleasantly as he noticed Marteen quietly watching him from the back of the room, a snide smirk twisting his face as he mockingly inclined his head in the attempt of a bow, acknowledging Aragorn's discomfort by glancing quickly to the elf by his side. Aragorn shivered at the undisguised malevolence he saw on the man's face before he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

It took him a moment to shake his head, to rid himself of the prickling feeling at the back of his neck, hair standing on end. Instead he smiled and accepted Eowyn's hand as she approached him for a dance, the entire court watching him as he stepped into the centre of the room, the music lilting as they picked up a new tune. He held the slender hand in his, the trim curve of her waist fitting snugly to the palm of his hand as he slowly led her in a wide circle, her dress brushing against his legs with every step, her smile dazzling as she turned to face those she knew, holding Faramir's gaze just a little longer than everyone else.

He felt exhilarated, alive with merriment as they twirled and spun and waltzed, their steps in perfect time until the song came to an end and they bowed to one another, Eowyn claimed almost immediately by Faramir, a possessive gleam in his eye as he smiled warmly at her and Aragorn felt his heart lighten as she returned the gesture, holding tight to his hand as he pulled her close.

Aragorn fended off a number of requests, feigning thirst as he ducked back into the crowd, avoiding bright gazes and anxious stares, everyone eager to be able to say that they had spoken personally to their king. He snuck his way to the back of the room, filling his cup again with the cool, sweet wine and drinking deeply, settling a fire that burnt bright within him at being so carefree this night. He watched from across the room as the number ended, partners switching and he met Faramir's gaze over the top of the crowd, tipping his head towards the door.

The night was cool outside, the stars bright against the dark velvet of the sky, not a trace of cloud to tarnish the luminescent face of the moon that shone down on the city, it's pale light painting the balcony white, shining in the darkness of the night. He leant heavily on the railing, looking out over the tiers of the city falling away beneath him, leading out onto the whitewashed fields, the road to Osgiliath trailing across the plains to the shining beacon of the river town.

He sighed deeply, relishing the breeze on his flushed face, eyes closing.

"You will have a beautiful land." Aragorn opened his eyes, unsurprised to find that Legolas had silently appeared at his side, resplendent in the moonshine as he joined Aragorn at the railing.

"Aye, tis hard to believe that a few short weeks ago those fields saw one of the greatest battles of our time." He eyed the plains, unable to see the scars of war in the darkness, the great fields ringed with the silver crested mountain range that stretched away beyond sight.

Legolas folded his arms, leaning against the stone railing and turning his tranquil gaze upon Aragorn. "You are not enjoying the festivities?" He asked lightly, knowing full well that it was not his distaste of dancing and wine that would have driven him from the room, far from it.

Aragorn shook his head, a fond half smile lifting his lips. "I think I should fear for my life should I have joined Eowyn in another turn, Faramir seems quite intent." He said smoothly, eyes alight as the elf laughed softly, his humour tapering when he noticed the pensive frown that ruffled Aragorn's brow.

"What is it?" Legolas asked.

Aragorn shook his head, sighing as his eyes roved over the view before them. "For so many years, it seemed that this day would never come, that it was always far along in another life, but now it is here, has snuck up on me." He lowered his head, looking down at his hands on the railing, "I question whether I am ready for such a thing, if I shall ever be ready."

"Aragorn," a warm hand moved to cover the man's on the railing. "I have no doubt in my heart that you will be a wise and just King, you were born to lead, and have done so for many years already, whether you realise it or not. Your humility, your humanity, will make you a greater King than any of your sires could have ever been."

Aragorn's lips twitched in a quick smile, warmth spreading in his chest at the praise, but still he looked down. "You do me honour my love," He said softly, "But I feel also like a part of me will be gone at the rising of the dawn, that this is the last night that I am truly free."

Legolas' hand tightened around his, "You are King, in service to no one but yourself." He reminded him.

"Apart from Gondor and thousands of its people." Aragorn muttered, turning his hands so he could hold on to the warm grip. "And you." He whispered softly, bringing the hand up so he could brush his lips in a trail of soft kisses across the palm, hearing Legolas sigh quietly beside him.

They stood in silence for a time, taking simple pleasure in each other's company, the music from inside reaching them on the gentle breeze and Aragorn turned slowly, straight and formal as he offered his hand, a placid, content look upon his face. "Dance with me." He whispered lowly, heart fluttering as Legolas smiled shyly and took his hand, allowing Aragorn to pull him close, arm around his waist.

They moved together slowly, the music perfect for the gentle beauty of the night, of this moment, it's memory burning into Aragorn's mind to forever play behind closed eyes in the years to come. He held Legolas close, breathing him in as they danced cheek to cheek. "I have never felt such love as I do for you." He whispered lowly, feeling the elf's hand move against his chest, fingers curling gently in the soft velvet of his robes. "This moment I shall treasure forever." He kissed the cheek before him, skin cool beneath his heated lips.

"As shall I." Legolas said in return, turning to look Aragorn in the eye before whispering softly, "I love you."

Aragorn kissed him then, holding his face gently in his hand as they slowed, his hand sliding deftly into golden hair, unaware that they were watched from the doorway, Faramir turning away anyone wanting to leave, letting them have their moment of calm in an otherwise chaotic evening, a faint wistful smile upon his face as he watched their obvious love and adoration for each other.

"So tell me," Legolas whispered as Aragorn sought to press a kiss to his neck, lips hot just beneath his ear. "If this is your last night as a free man, what would it be you wish to do?"

Aragorn smiled, pressing the shape of his lips to pale elven skin, tightening his hold around the elf's waist as he breathed lowly against pointed ear, "You..." Delighting in the way Legolas shivered, the faint rush of his breath leaving him in a heady gasp as he continued, "I would have you cry my name."

He didn't have to look at the darkened gaze to know that his words had flustered the elf just as much as him, could tell instead by the way he arched into Aragorn's arms, baring more his neck for the man to graze his teeth across, nipping and biting, his hands pulling them close, but not close enough.

"You will be missed." Legolas pointed out, voice trembling and doing nothing for Aragorn's resolve.

"I know." He growled lowly, fingers tight in the elf's shirt as he straightened to once again claim sweet lips in a quick and hungry kiss.

"Do you care?" Legolas laughed.

"Not at all." Aragorn breathed, the words lost between them. Wordlessly he took the elf's hand in his, pulling him along as they rounded the balcony, following the narrow path until it lead to steps, thankful that there was a way out that did not leave through the crowded hall bursting with its well wishers. Aragorn gave little thought to what they might say when they came to realise that their King was no longer in their presence, nor when they would find out who else was missing, he would leave those excuses to Faramir, not knowing that he had already watched them leave, an amused grin lingering as he'd turned from the window, his duty done to keep them undisturbed.

As beautiful a city as it was, Aragorn wished with a passionate fervour that the streets that lay between the ball room and his own rooms held a shorter path. As it was, there was barely a corner he could turn where he did not take a moment to stop in the shadows, their forms enveloped in darkness as he pressed the elf to the wall, kisses hot and deep, Aragorn's hands running beneath loosened shirt to feel the achingly soft skin under his touch, a burning fire raging within him and fanned with every subtle arch of the elf's body into his, blazing friction making him growl and bite down on smooth elven flesh.

They made it at last to his rooms, the door heavy as it settled into the latch and Aragorn threw the bolt across, meeting the smouldering intensity of his companion's eyes with an appreciative grin. They reached for each other at the same time, hands winding and grasping into hair, delving beneath clothing, mouths firm and unrelenting as Aragorn led them in a hurried dance across the floor, his hands working at the knots and fastenings on the elf's shirt, baring him to Aragorn's hungry gaze.

They reached the bed, Aragorn pushing him down with an ounce of force, dark stare roving over the enthralling sight the fair Prince made, cheeks flushed, eyes dark, hair in glorious disarray and a fey glint in his eye as he reached up, fingers gentle as they slowly removed the golden band from his own brow, tossing it casually to the end of the bed. He leant back on his hands, toeing off his boots with a challenging gaze that Aragorn could no longer deny, something primal rumbling in his chest as he knelt on the edge of the bed, hand fisting into golden hair as he brought the elf up into a devouring kiss, breath hot as he growled, "You seek to undo me."

Legolas just smiled, hands bruising in their grip as he held Aragorn's hips, pulling them together in a long slow grind as Aragorn pushed against the elf's shoulders, his weight pressing them both down as they fell backwards onto the bed. Aragorn groaned, heart nearly bursting in his chest at the feel of the hard, lean body arching up beneath him, the elf's hands beneath his shirt, nails sharp against his skin. They turned, rolling suddenly, Aragorn breathless and awed by the elf's strength, eyes wide as he looked up at the exhilarating vision now sat astride him, the elf's hand clenched in the fabric of Aragorn's shirt, twisting until it pulled tight, dragging him up, Aragorn's hands digging into slender waist as Legolas all but tore his shirt away, the fastenings buckling under his rending grip.

Aragorn gasped, mouth open, breath hot against the plains of the elf's chest, his tongue laving over heated skin. He threw off his shirt, dragging the pale silk that wrapped the elf down his arms, both cast away from the bed as Aragorn rolled them again, nimble fingers already making light work of laces, undressing them both despite the wondrous distraction of Legolas biting gently as his neck, his hand on the back of Aragorn's neck, holding him still as he left a bruising kiss to the hinge of his jaw, making the man hiss and wince, hips grinding down making Legolas gasp and moan at the sudden painful friction.

It was only a matter of seconds before Aragorn had them unclothed, his hand trailing up trembling thigh, fingertips ghosting along the definition of toned muscle that shifted and moved beneath velvet skin. He sank his weight on the body beneath him, drinking in the low moan that fell from the elf's lips, teeth grazing over bruised lips that parted instinctively, letting Aragorn sweep his tongue into the glorious wet warmth of the elf's mouth, his own low sounds of pleasure melting into the heat between them.

Hands low against Aragorn's back, pulling him down as Legolas moved slowly beneath him, legs wrapping around Aragorn's hips as the man slowly moved against him, the heat pooling dangerously in his stomach, urging him faster, harder, fingers lacing with Legolas' pressing their hands into the pillows, his face pressed to the elf's neck as they moved together, his ears ringing with the sound of the other gasping and moaning his name. "God's Aragorn," the low moan breathed headily against Aragorn's ear, making him shiver, and suddenly it wasn't enough.

His blood burned through his veins, setting him aflame. He needed to claim him, to hold him down and watch azure eyes darken as he took him, he ached with need, hands grasping in their hold, Legolas stretched out beneath him, eyes closed and brow knitted with elation. "I want you." He growled, voice low with a dangerous hunger.

The body beneath him tightened, breath held and released in a long, slow sigh, body arched up into Aragorn as he breathed "You have me." Dark eyes opened, one hand struggling to release itself from Aragorn's grip, hot palm against his cheek as he was brought to meet the heady gaze. "Now take me."

Aragorn could barely breath, his heart beating hard enough to burst, fire beneath his skin as he drew his thumb along the lips swollen from his hard kisses, stomach swooping as a pink tongue lapped at his fingertips, teeth grazing over his thumb as he was held in the elf's eyes, dark with desire.

Aragorn looked up, suddenly remembering the burner on the side table, a flash of amusement and delight to still find it there as he leant forward, carefully removing the dish from above where the flame would sit. He dipped his fingers into the fragrant oil, feeling it warm and silken around his fingertips as he watched it spread in the firelight, his breath heavy in his lungs with anticipation.

His kiss this time was edged with a furious desire, hot and hungry as he moved, soaking in every gasp and mewl as Legolas tried to keep up, his hands holding fast on Aragorn's arms, seeking purchase. Aragorn's blood was near boiling, his heart in his throat as he brought his hand down, his knee nudging the elf's legs further apart as he watched his face, eyes intent on the dark stare and flushed cheeks, holding Legolas' gaze until he slowly pressed in to the gloriously warm body with a slow and deliberate movement, those eyes now sheltered by flickering lashes as the golden head pressed back into the pillows, a small frown of discomfort creasing his brow. "Relax." Aragorn breathed, utterly entranced.

He smoothed the hair back from the elf's brow, lips gentle at the corner of his mouth, breathing in the sharp gasps of pain and pleasure as he moved deeper, twisting his hand in a way that made Legolas' entire body tighten, eyes open, mouth frozen around his held breath as he looked up at Aragorn, the ache warring with his sudden gratification as he brought his hand up behind Aragorn's head, pulling him down into a fevered kiss, mouths wide and gasping as he whimpered and moaned, setting Aragorn aflame with his desire.

He pulled away, unable to catch his breath, turning instead to the elf's heaving chest, laving his tongue along the graceful arch of his collarbone, drinking in the taste of his ardency like a drug that settled in his veins, spurring him on and driving him wild as he dared to press another finger into the tight heat, biting down on soft flesh when Legolas arched into him with a low groan, hands fisting in his hair as he held Aragorn's head to his chest.

He'd never felt this drunk on lust before, so overcome with white heat that his vision blurred, his hearing made up of anguished sobs and contented sighs, completely captivated by the body that slowly writhed beneath him, the way the muscles in the elf's stomach moved as he pressed a hand there to hold him down, sitting back on his knees to better see him, the way he turned his face into the pillow, eyes shut, mouth open, his hands twisting in the sheets, nearly rending them apart in his grip. It was almost too much to look at him, nearly spending himself right there with the primal knowledge that it was him who had reduced Legolas to this, his body sheaned with sweat, trembling and shaking with need as he muttered whispered words, prayers and pleas in both elvish and English.

Aragorn drew back, relishing the faint sound of protest as he ran his hand down the quivering stomach. "Turn over." He whispered, dark with longing, heart beating hard enough to rock his entire body as Legolas opened his eyes to gaze up at him, blue eyes nearly black holding his own, mirroring the desperate ache that claimed them both as Legolas slowly rolled over, the firelight dancing over his skin, curving around muscle that shifted and moved, enticing and beckoning Aragorn forward to drape himself along the hot length of his body, his mouth going straight away to the deliciously sensitive skin at the back of the elf's neck, grazing his teeth along the flesh and delighting in the guttural moan he pressed from the over wrung body, hands wondering down his back, nails scratching lightly over flushed skin making Legolas jump and shiver until at last Aragorn reached his hips, settling back on his knees as he dragged the elf up, hands tight in their hold, almost bruising as he held himself back, begging himself for resolve as he aligned himself, eyes on the elf's shoulders, they way the shook, rising and falling with each hurried breath and then frozen, tense and unmoving as he slowly brought them together. He bit at his lip, fingers punishing in their hold as he forced himself to go slow, to push away the urge to bury himself deep as the feeling of elation overwhelmed him, his own gasps of pleasure smothered with Legolas' mixed cry of blissful agony, his head dropping to hang between his shoulders as he breathed, stuttering, heaving breaths that did little for Aragorn's calm, making him want to drive forward, to hear him break and lose control.

He stilled himself, prising one hand from the elf's hips to run in a gentle caress over the small of his back, feeling the tightness in his body that threatened to ruin him. Legolas' arms shook, barely able to hold his weight under the strain and Aragorn took pity, leaning forward to gather him in his arms before drawing him back, holding him to his chest as he sat back, mind searing at the soft cry that left parted lips as the elf's full weight settled into Aragorn's lap, his head falling back to the man's shoulder, waves of silken hair cascading down his back, making him shiver at the delicate touch. "Aragorn..." His name came to his ears as a pained whisper, begging and pleading. He shifted his hold, one hand over the wildly beating heart, his thumb smoothing over the silken scar as he flattened out his palm to feel every racing breath, the other hand reaching up to trace the exposed line of pale elven throat, soft and tender in his caress as he held his hand to Legolas' face, turning him so that Aragorn could press his mouth to those parted lips, could drink in the soft gasps and wonder at the all encompassing warmth that filled him, awe struck at the perfect beauty in his arms, love and trust shining in the depths of the elf's eyes as he looked back at Aragorn, bringing his arm up behind Aragorn's head so as to hold them more tightly together as they kissed. Aragorn closed his eyes, completely undone by the passion and adoration that surrounded his heart, his arms tight around the lithe body, keenly aware of just how much he cherished him, worshiped him, his devotion something only ever written about before in song.

He pressed his face into his neck, his own breaths hot and damp against the already glistening skin as he held on with a possession that frightened him, claimed him in its intensity. He lapped at the skin beneath his mouth, tasting salt and the earth melting into his tongue, lips curling back in a feral smile as he rolled his hips, feeling the moan that broke from the elf in the tight press of his back against Aragorn's chest.

Aragorn let his hand wander, tracing every line of the tight body, relishing every stuttered sigh, every half gasp of his name as he rocked and moved, feeling the heat that surrounded him tighten, almost painful as he drifted his hand along the inside of a pale thigh, hand coming up to curl around the elf in a sure grip, firm stroke matching the torturously slow rhythm, the elf's hand suddenly around his wrist, sure and tight as he followed Aragorn's movements, his other hand lacing with Aragorn's fingers as he pressed his palm over the elf's racing heart.

"Legolas..." Aragorn breathed, overwhelmed as a maddening, agonising lust swept through him. He moved them forward, his hand hard in its hold as he pressed the elf's shoulders down, golden hair swimming over the pillow with his first hard thrust into the willing body, the cry that ripped from Legolas' throat driving him wild. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the hot satin glide of their bodies coming together, his own groans mixing with the elf's soft cries to electrify the air around them. Aragorn fell forward, mouth open against the slick skin of the elf's back, his hands smoothing over the shaking, quivering arms, folding around the fists that clenched in the sheets.

With a primal noise Aragorn pulled back, turning Legolas so that he collapsed on his back, a grateful sound passing his lips even as Aragorn surged forward, lifting his hips and driving them together with a force that made Legolas nearly scream, his back leaving the bed as his entire body arched, fingernails dragging crimson stripes down Aragorn's arms. "Oh gods," Aragorn breathed, a subtle prayer to thank whatever deity had blessed him with this vision, with these sights and sounds that so enveloped him, made him mad with passion as he brought them close, chest to chest, pressing his lips to the elf's and drawing him into a deep and satisfying kiss, feeling him whimper and breathe against Aragorn's lips. "Oh gods Legolas, I love you." He murmured, pressing their foreheads together so that when he opened his eyes he was held fast in the depth of the elf's gaze, drawn down into ecstasy as he drove them higher, spurred on by the frantic grasping against his back, the way legs wrapped around his thighs, pulling him deeper, faster, harder, breaths heavy, hearts racing until finally all thought coalesced into a white hot moment of euphoria, dimly aware of his name resounding through his rooms as Legolas joined him.

Years could have passed, or mere seconds until Aragorn found his mind clearing, his entire body alive, draped and wrapped within athletic elven limbs, fingers carding through his hair, the heart beneath his cheek still hurried as their breaths slowed.

"You shouted my name." Aragorn whispered, a tired kiss pressed to the heated skin of Legolas' chest, a lazy smile creeping across his face as he felt the body beneath him shake with mirth, remembering their conversation from the balcony.

"I did." Legolas replied, his breath ruffling Aragorn's hair as he lay upon his chest. Aragorn moved, hauling himself up onto his elbows so he could look down on the enchanting sight of his Prince so dishevelled and flushed, his lips red, eyes glazed and shining, he brushed aside a lock of golden hair clinging to sweat slicked skin, tracing the line of the blush that hued his cheek. He shifted closer, cupping the elf's jaw in his hand as he leant to kiss him long, and slow, and deep, trying to pour every ounce of his encompassing, unconditional love for this man beneath him, all weight of duty and responsibility fading from his mind as Legolas smiled up at him, gentle, sure and kind, his own slender hand curving to fit the back of Aragorn's neck as he brought him down into another kiss.


	20. Chapter 20

Aragorn breathed, long and slow, holding his breath for just a moment, concentrating on the feel of the stone beneath his knees rather than the thousand eyes upon his back. His jaw ached, teeth clenched together as he looked up at the wizard before him, sunlight glinting off the winged crown within his hands. He wondered if Gandalf could see the terror in his eyes, knew that he was counting down the seconds with racing heart until he felt the cool weight of metal press heavily down upon his brow, Gandalf's words lost to him under the crushing feeling of finality, like a bell ringing in some far off hall to beckon the coming of war.

His mouth was dry, hand held fast around the hilt of his sword clasped to his side as he stood, thankful for the heavy cloak on his back that seemed to drag him down but hid the tremble in his legs as he fought to stand and turn, raising his eyes inch by inch to fully see the crowd spread out before him in a sea of upturned faces, their applause like white noise in his mind as he stood frozen, desperately trying to remember the words that he was supposed to say.

He heard a mutter behind him, Gandalf leaning forward slightly to surreptitiously whisper the first words of his oath into his ear and Aragorn felt he might pass out from the relief, the words suddenly upon his lips, recited in a clear loud voice he was sure didn't belong to him, evidence of diligent practice. He should really apologise to Faramir, for his belligerence when pushed to learn.

He found the steward in the crowd, smiling brightly up at him, hand held over his heart. Aragorn felt his spirit lift, looking to Eowyn at his side, then Eomer, travelling the line of his friends, their faces eager and joyous as they clapped and cheered with the rest, the Halflings shouts louder than any other, their cries rising above the crowds as Aragorn smiled against his will, and then his heart caught in his throat.

He didn't think he'd ever seen Legolas look so enchanting before, every inch an elven Prince, everything about him luminous and glowing, like every ray of sun that shone down upon them was drawn to him, making him almost incandescently beautiful. He stood as though apart from the crowd, unheeding of the cries around him, of Pippin tugging at his sleeve as he met Aragorn's gaze as he looked down upon him, a deep and passionate pride shining in his eyes, making Aragorn's heart falter as he took his first step down the stairs.

The first to meet him were the Hobbits, Frodo's face wet with tears as he and Sam bowed to him, their grins matched by Gimli and Gandalf who were suddenly by his side, and Aragorn had the overwhelming urge to gather them all into his arms, to hold them within this moment to cherish and save forever and let the years pass over them without leaving their mark, these wonderful, beautiful faces that had become so dear to him.

A kiss was pressed to his cheek, a sweet word of praise from Eowyn and a rough shake of the hand from her brother, the both of them looking upon him with a certain sense of awe, as though unable to believe that the man who had ridden into war with them now stood before them, brow gilded in gold and silver, shining in the sun. And then there was a hand on his back, sliding around beneath the heavy cloak with an intimacy that made every dark thought he'd held about this day disappear and he turned instinctively to return the gesture, drawing Legolas into a close embrace, smiling wide at his laugh of surprise, whispering his love lowly into golden hair, the words lost beyond the elf's ears in the noise of the crowd before they drew apart. Aragorn's eyes were drawn to the smudge of a bruise revealed beneath the high collar of the elf's shirt, a smirk upon his face as he met azure eyes in a fleeting glance, looking away lest his remembering the act that put the mark upon perfect skin redden his cheeks.

Time seemed to drag around him, a thousand faces before him with a thousand well wishes, joy in the air, lifting up the blossoms scattered on the breeze as he turned and smiled and offered his hand to all who asked, trying to impress every face into his memory. These were his people, citizens of his city who looked upon him now as their King, each one of their words of kindness easing away another doubt that had weighed upon his shoulders, his fear of subjugation under his role lessening.

The sun was high in the sky when Faramir reminded him quietly that he had official papers to sign, a chance to cool himself in the shade, to sit and slake his thirst before the afternoon's activities. He inclined his head, a slow motion of his hand beckoning Gandalf to join him, his presence required as officiate. He would be glad to free himself of the weight of his cloak, cumbersome and awkward despite Gimli's assistance, smiling his thanks as he bid a farewell to Damon, drawing back from the assembly of denizens, eyes flitting from face to face as he searched for a flash of fair hair, leaning to better see, a small frown on his face as he looked down at Gimli. "Where is our Elf?"

Gimli looked about himself in much the same manner, hindered by his height and the weight of the cloak draped over his arm, he shrugged up at Aragorn. Slowly Aragorn looked up through the crowd, absently ruffling Pippin's hair as the hobbit rushed past. The people seemed to part before him, a brief glimpse through a valley of shadows and faces to where the light shone brightly on his lover's face, a perfect counterpoint to the grey faces of the people of this land. Aragorn smiled widely, but Legolas did not return his gaze, was instead intently focused on a letter within his hands, a page boy solemn and dutifully bowed before him. Aragorn felt a sudden chill rush through him, craning his head to better watch the subtle frown that creased the fair brow, eyes darkening as he read over the lines upon the page, an odd blank look and glazed stare overcoming him and Aragorn felt the smile melt slowly from his face, rooted to the spot as he watched Legolas raise his eyes, drawn as though by an otherworldly power to lock his gaze with the man's, numb shock frozen upon his stricken face.

He felt the breath stripped from his lungs, something cold and insidious washing through his veins and making him shiver, no voice to the name spoken on his lips. He watched as the page nervously garnered the elf's attention, waiting for whatever words fell automatically from Legolas' lips, bowing quickly with hands clasped before him, his backward step making him melt into the crowd. Aragorn felt his feet move, drawn on impulse with the need to let his fingers gentle across the suddenly pale cheek, to smooth the taut line of his brow, but he was caught in a sudden grip, turned from his path by Faramir and too shaken by his sudden nervousness to deny him, shaking off his grip instead with an agitated look, eyes immediately back to where Legolas had stood, but the sun stained clearing was empty.

He balked, raising himself up on his toes and casting his gaze about wildly, frantically searching for any trace of the elf, Legolas' name finally finding voice from his lips, calling loud across the courtyard and drawing the eyes of everyone nearby at his concern.

"I'll find him." Gimli rumbled, letting Aragorn's cloak flow from his arm in a pool of velvet to gather around his feet, he nodded at Faramir who turned Aragorn again to the sheltered entrance to the inner halls. He let himself be led, Gandalf's hand on his shoulder and his assurance low in his ear that the dwarf would no doubt be quick in his entreaty.

Aragorn felt heavy with unease, a sickening pulse of unexplained nausea pooling low in his stomach as he swept his gaze one last time across the throng of people who still took every opportunity to cheer his name.

He did not know how he came to be sat at his desk, or what papers it was he had signed, or just how many minutes or hours may have passed with the dull thudding of his heart to keep measure until the door was opened and Pippin appeared, still dressed in his livery and given entrance as a guard of the citadel, but it was not his still unfamiliar garb that caused the pen to fall from Aragorn's fingers, it was instead the look upon the innocent face and the shake in his voice as he addressed him.

"Gimli sent me to bring you." He murmured quietly in the echoing silence of the stone room, eyes wide and confused. "Legolas is leaving."

Aragorn's chair nearly overturned in his rush to stand and he was almost thrown off balance by the forgotten weight of the cloak around his shoulders. "What...?" He breathed, unable to conceive what it was the Hobbit had said, that perhaps he had misheard.

"He's at the stables now, readying." Pippin held nervously to the hem of his tunic, eyes never once leaving the man's. "He's had word from his father, he..."

Aragorn needed to hear no more, kicking back the chair as he moved from the desk, fingers fumbling and shaking at the clasps that pinned his heavy cloak, releasing it to fall in a slump as he cast it from his back, already around the desk and waving Pippin before him to lead him, the echo of his name lost to him, Faramir and Gandalf quick to pursue in the pounding of his boots on the flagstones, following the Hobbit from the hall, tongue thick in his mouth and stopping his breath. "What word?"

"He didn't say," Pippin replied, now following at a run as Aragorn overtook him, familiar now with the way to the stables. "Gimli said to find you."

'Bless that dwarf!' Aragorn thought, overcome with the sudden paranoia that perhaps Legolas would have found it in himself to leave without a word, the thought spurring him on even faster as they made their way, their arrival preceded by the low grumbling of a dwarven voice, heard before the door was even opened.

The stable was dark, dark enough after the brightness of the sun outside that it took Aragorn a moment to be able to see, to focus on the small assembly gathered, hobbits and dwarves surrounding the elf with folded arms and Aragorn could see with a gut clenching pain that he was indeed dressed for travel. Gone was the crown and the silken robes, replaced instead with his familiar garb and a look of guilty pain as he met Aragorn's sudden gaze, hands stilled in their task of tacking and saddling.

"Legolas...?" Aragorn breathed, his hope that perhaps Gimli had overreacted diminishing as he saw the sorrow flash across the elf's face.

"Ah! Here's someone to talk some sense in to you!" Gimli cried, waving his hand at Aragorn as he approached. "Tell him Aragorn, that such haste on such an inauspicious day is unbecoming!"

Aragorn stepped carefully, blood cold at how the elf turned his face away. "Legolas, what is this?"

"Here, I cannot read it." Gimli thrust a letter towards him, dragging his intent away as he took the paper in his hands, carefully unfolding the page to reveal the neat, flowing script of Mirkwood's King, breath catching in his throat as he read over the words, the missive short and to the point, ending with precision, 'You are recalled immediately'. Aragorn shook his head, shock and denial painting his face with grief as Gimli urged him, "What does it say?"

Aragorn licked at his lips, cracked and dry from his hurried breaths as he looked up into the mournful face of his elf, his words low and barely heard. "Thranduil is sailing West." He muttered, fingers clenching to the letter. "Legolas is to take the throne, or leave for Valinor with him."

It felt as though all life had left him, not even the strength to breathe could surpass his numbing shock, reading the carefully hidden grief upon the well loved face before him as well as a much read book.

"Two kings in one day, hey!" Merry crowed, his outburst silenced roughly by a kick to the shin, Sam hushing him noisily.

"He ain't smiling, Merry." He admonished lowly, pointing out clearly for the rest to see the suddenly downturned gaze, Legolas turning away from them all to adjust Arod's reins.

"Legolas..." his name left Aragorn's lips as a rough whisper, surging forward to stand close to the elf, close enough to see the trembling of his shoulders, the tightness around his eyes as Aragorn pushed the letter into his line of sight, demanding an explanation in the way he held it in his fist, taken numbly by a pale hand.

_"I'm sorry." _Legolas whispered softly, voice thick with pain, refusing to meet Aragorn's gaze, and within the two short words Aragorn felt his heart stop, the weight of his meaning becoming terribly clear.__

"You cannot leave." Aragorn whispered, eyes wide as he looked at the elf, at how he turned his gaze away, face lowered to the floor. He stepped forward, a surge of anger welling in his chest. "You cannot leave!" His shout echoed in the stable, spooking the horses and sending a ripple of anxiety through them all. "Legolas." He barked the name as though a command, an order meant to be obeyed.

Legolas looked up, an odd sheen in his eyes as they darkened, a futile anger storming in their depth as he held the letter fisted in his hand. "And what would you have me do?" he demanded, voice thick and anguished as he met the steel gaze. "You think I can defy him?"

"But to leave right now?" Aragorn asked, breathing hard and doing everything in his power to keep his hands by his side. "You can wait." He said sharply.

"This is no request Aragorn." Legolas raised his voice, brandishing the letter, the broken seal like a branding iron in Aragorn's sight. "This is a summons!" he drew back, something dying in his eyes, his voice quiet, "He is my father, but he is first and foremost my King." He said mutely, a terrifying resignation rolling off him in waves, making Aragorn's stomach turn.

It felt as though the world turned beneath his feet, that his breath held little air as he whispered, _"No," _a pointless denial as he met the elf's guarded stare, feeling suddenly, utterly lost, _"I am your King." _He breathed, the words for the elf alone, _"And you are my Prince." _______

He saw something break behind the shield. What else could he say, what thought could come to his mind when he was paralysed by fear. _"Don't go." _He whispered, voice trembling in a manner so unbecoming a King, and suddenly he didn't care that he was being watched, that the others guessed at the meaning of his words that had caused such a look of pained anguish upon the elf's fair face. _"Please... please don't." _____

Aragorn reached out, hand wrapping around slender wrist, and he watched in dismay as Legolas turned away, eyes closed to guard him from the tears that sprang unbidden in the elf's eyes. _"I have no choice." _He muttered, agony in every word. _"I am not free as you are." _____

Aragorn felt the first flecks of panic seep into his veins, a shot of adrenaline making his heart pound in his tight chest, shaking his head, denial his only coherent thought. Surely this was a fallacy, some terrible, horrible mistake. Surely such darkness could not exist of such a bright day. He turned to Gandalf, hoping to beseech him to stop this madness, to do something, anything, to stay the elf's resolve, to stop the twisting agony of his heart splintering in his chest. But Gandalf did not meet his eye, looked down upon the straw covered floor instead. None of them could hold his gaze for more than a second, both Gimli and Faramir looking away with a pitying shock, unable to meet the wildness in the man's eyes.

Aragorn forced himself to calm, to breath slow and deep as he leant in close, his hand automatically seeking purchase on the Elf's arm as he whispered lowly. _"Don't do this." _He could feel the trembling of the arm beneath his touch, and he held on all the tighter for it. _"Stay... let us talk." _He gripped the soft tunic, nails digging in with desperation.____

_"There is nothing that can be said." _Legolas murmured, finally bringing his face up to meet Aragorn's, the space between them heated with their mingled breath. _"It is not your orders that I am compelled to follow." _____

Aragorn felt the bitter sting of tears behind his eyes at the heart breaking sorrow in the elf's voice. _"Then see out this day with me at least... one more night..." _he implored, pressing his eyes closed to stave off the pain of looking into the grief stricken blue gaze.__

_"Aragorn..." _he felt the gentle press of a hand upon his, fingers warm against his where he held on tight. There were no more words, just the feeling of sweet, gentle breath upon his face and a chilling tension that clawed at his chest, hot and desperate, aching and nauseating.__

Aragorn felt the fingers curl around his own, loosening his grip, preparing to push him away, and he rebelled, eyes flashing open with a darkened gaze, held in a brief unending moment until he slid his hand to the back of Legolas' neck, skin warm beneath golden hair as he brought them together, catching the lips parted in surprise in a close, bruising kiss. Aragorn was dimly aware of a chorus of gasps, of the soft intake of breath that pulled the air from his lungs but he didn't care, not when he could impress upon the elf the undeniable perfection of their love for each other, to somehow prove that Legolas was wrong, that he couldn't possibly leave him, not when he knew he felt the same, could feel the same irrefutable longing to simply hold the other close, to gaze upon each other's face and stay that way until the stars themselves faded from the sky. But Legolas drew back, breath heady and rushed as he breathed Aragorn's name.

"You will come back." Aragorn whispered against soft lips, hand upon smooth, flushed cheek as he kissed him softly once more, the words leaving him as a statement, an indisputable order.

But Legolas said nothing, closed his eyes instead, the perfect picture of misery as he turned to press his cheek into Aragorn's touch. "Legolas...?" Aragorn whispered, lifting the chin within his grasp to better see the Elf's face. "You will come back..." he stressed, another chill rushing through him as eyes opened before him, spilling tears upon silken skin.

Aragorn balked, wanting to shake the answer from him, wanted to read anything but the grief and sorrow within his eyes and know what truth he refused to say, to put into words that would break him, would shatter his heart and leave him bereft and broken. "Legolas...?"

"Gandalf..." Legolas' voice was hoarse, cracked and strained as he turned away, and Aragorn didn't understand why he'd said another's name until the wizard stepped forward, his hands gentle as they covered Aragorn's own, pulling them away from where they had twisted into the elf's clothes, holding him firmly by the wrists as Legolas stepped away, turning from the shock and the horror upon Aragorn's face as he flung the rein up and over Arod's head, graceful even in his anguish as he mounted the horse, heedless of the denial screaming in Aragorn's mind.

Aragorn was held fast, unable to move even if he'd wanted to, legs numb and arms weak as he looked up at his elf, his Prince, watching as his eyes flitted from face to face, a hesitant and desperate look about his eyes, resting lastly on Aragorn.

One short trembling breath.

Whispered words, falling with agony from his lips, _"I love you." ___

And he was gone, a sharp snap of the reins and he was gone from their small, dark little haven, leaving behind him only silence and disbelief, leaving Aragorn standing alone, heart breaking, and the taste of him still upon his lips.


	21. Chapter 21

Aragorn sat as though alone, face impassive lest he betray the rawness of his heart, limbs tense and strained, aching from the constant urge to run that had plagued him these last few weeks. He could not stop the chill of nausea from sweeping through him no matter how hard he tried, every moment, every second of every day spent in grief that radiated from him without him knowing, unsettling all who must counsel with him.

Even now his thoughts strayed, sitting at the head of the long table, the council convened to discuss matters of border security, their stories of renegade bands of orcs and trolls and goblins falling upon deaf ears as Aragorn sat staring wistfully out of the window, fingertips tracing his lips as he recalled once again the last feel of soft lips upon his own.

He had been left as half a man, and his guilt of knowing that even now he let his people down could not overcome the desperate longing he felt to be far from here, to go back to when there were no crowns, no duties, no orders but their own to follow.

He could not recall how it was he got through the rest of that day, after watching Legolas vanish into the sunlight, enveloped in the blinding light and leaving them behind in the chilling darkness, no words spoken amongst themselves, unwilling to break the fragile silence. He had attended the feasts, and watched the parade, accepted pledges and oaths with an indifferent ear, held fast only by the murmured words of comfort from Gimli and Gandalf.

He had already sent out riders, twelve in all, sent out one after the other with all haste despite the gentle warning and reminder that no man would be able to catch a creature who required no sleep, no rest, bent only on fulfilling a summons from his King. But Aragorn cared not, needed to feel as though he were doing something, anything other than sitting idly by, unwilling to accept this sudden stark decision. None had yet returned with any word, unable to catch Legolas and ask of the choice that he had made, neither of which would see him returned to his side.

There were moments when he was full of hate, anger tearing at his chest and making him clench his fists, nails digging into his flesh and leaving crimson marks. He hated the crown he wore for keeping him here, he hated the averted pity he saw in his friends eyes, hated even more the Prince's birthright, that he could be taken from his side with no more than a simple piece of paper, a written word from leagues away. He held a particular dislike for Thranduil.

At times he wondered at the depths of his despair, how it had come that he could be so overwhelmed by such anguish and desolation, how their few short days together could have revealed and released within him such an all consuming love that without the elf by his side he felt his loss as a physical agony, a pressing weight about his shoulders that bore him down, crushing him.

He was brought back to himself as a map was pushed in front of him, metal rings placed atop to highlight where Faramir suggested setting up new garrisons, the steward's hand still lingering on the edge of the paper, peering at Aragorn with a slowly comprehending look that he had heard nothing they had said. Faramir sighed softly, pouring out a cup of wine and pushing it along the table for Aragorn to curl his hand around, relishing the distraction and the delay. "Do you wish for a break my Lord?" Faramir asked softly.

Aragorn was sorely tempted, heart heavy and in need to lighten the load on his shoulders, to walk out in the sunlight, to maybe spend a little time with the Hobbits who still remained, taking their time to enjoy the sights and fully recover. But he shook his head, mutely resolving to pay more attention, to let his mind become weary with the news of his realm, absorbing useless facts and pretending to know what was best for his people.

"There is little more to discuss." Garrett leaned forward on Aragorn's left, a general of the armies, the only one left from the war, a hearty sturdy man with a gruffness to his expression that belied his genuine nature. Aragorn appreciated his gesture, a small smile of gratitude lifting his lips as he inclined his head, his thanks replaced by an irritated look by whispers and murmurs further down the table, Aragorn's eyes narrowing as he looked at Marteen snickering and whispering with the man beside him, blood boiling all of a sudden as he tensed his jaw. "I wasn't aware that threats to our borders were such an amusing issue." He ground out, drawing the pinched grey gaze.

"Apologies my Lord," Marteen purred, "It was not the roving bands that amused me." He smirked.

Aragorn straightened, fire behind his eyes as he held the challenging gaze and he was peripherally aware of both steward and general tensing beside him. "Well, by all means, let us all in on the joke, I'm sure we could use the levity." He waved his hand to gesture those gathered.

"Oh, tis nothing my Lord." He smiled, "Just posturing that it might be wise to set up a garrison at the borders of Mirkwood since you seem intent to send all of our riders there."

Aragorn bristled, hand fisting on the table top despite the gentle touch to his wrist by Faramir, a low murmur of censure in his ear even as Aragorn leaned forward, grinding his teeth to keep from spitting out a curse. He held the contemptuous stare, thoughts of running the man off the battlements filling his mind. He swallowed roughly, ideas of standing and walking away a very real temptation, but the vague notion of pride still welled within his chest and he growled lowly, "Leave."

There was a ripple of misunderstanding along the table, the council members glancing askew at each other, "All of you, now."

One by one the seats were pushed back, muttered words of confusion as they looked about themselves, eyes lingering on Faramir's lowered gaze and Marteen's smug grin. Though known by some now, Aragorn's affair with the Mirkwood Prince was little known about outside those who had been privy to Aragorn's confession first hand. "Aragorn?" Faramir's voice was soft and low as maps were rolled up and tied, tucked under arms amid the clatter and many footsteps. The man shook his head, waving off his concern as he saw a figure stir in the shadowed corner, white robes fluttering as Gandalf stood and waited for everyone else to leave.

At length Faramir left, his concern for the King great, having spent so many days by his side and watched as the weight of his duties added to the heaviness upon him, compounding his misery, trying with all his power to ease the burden and lessen the load. But Aragorn seemed to embrace his unhappiness, as though by holding onto the pain of his loss meant that he could preserve the memory of the happiness he had felt, that he only felt the pain because he had felt the joy beforehand. The steward walked away with barely a nod to the wizard that approached from the shadows, his own face grave as he drew back a chair and settled down at Aragorn's side.

Aragorn let out his breath and with it his shoulders dropped, slumping back in his chair as his fingers drew idle patterns upon the table top. "You are wallowing Aragorn." Gandalf said slowly, laying his hands calmly on the table.

Aragorn could have laughed at the obvious statement. "What else can I do?" he replied bitterly, sounding like a petulant child but unable to care.

"Your behaviour is unbecoming of someone with your status." Gandalf pointed out needlessly, watching Aragorn with a careful eye, noticing the stubborn set of the man's jaw, the way his eyes darkened mulishly, before sighing and trying a different tack. "You think Legolas would be proud to see you thusly?"

It seemed to work, eliciting a reaction other than obstinate self pitying, Aragorn's hand suddenly curling into a fist at the mention of the Elf's name, feeling a stab at his heart that never failed to strip the breath from his lungs. "He left," Aragorn muttered, "He does not see." He shook his head.

Gandalf grumbled something under his breath at Aragorn's denial, leaning forward, arms folded. "All the years that you loved Arwen, the months that you left her side, you did not saddle yourself with this grief." The wizard pointed out, drawing Aragorn's gaze.

"She was never this much a part of me." He whispered in return, unable to do little more than breathe the words. "And always I knew that we would meet again."

Gandalf sighed, wanting to refute the King but finding himself unable to do so, he had already heard vague whisperings on the wind, of Elves leaving the shores in great droves, the forests emptying with only a few to remain. It would be well to advise Aragorn that maybe Legolas would choose to take the crown, but from what the leaves and wind told him, there would be very little to rule over, if anything at all, and without a Kingdom left behind Gandalf knew that Mirkwood's mercurial King would be compelled to keep what little remained of his family close, to walk the last path together.

In truth the wizard feared that it was a distinct possibility that the Prince would leave these shores without a chance to see the borders of Gondor, let alone walk into the White City and embrace their King one last time. "It has only been some weeks now Aragorn." He said placatingly, "Mirkwood is as far from here as one can get."

"And knowing how he rides, he would have reached the border more than a week ago." Aragorn sighed. He had given up on watching the fields, spending the evenings by his window as he watched for a rider, for any sign of movement that carried indication of any news from the north. He had spent too many hours listening to the whistles, horns and bells that the city used to communicate between the levels, deciphering their meaning and interpreting when his heart should race and when his spirit should fall, his hope making him mishear on more than one occasion, making him burst from his rooms, feet pounding as he ran to the battlements, watching for the approach of a rider, but being ultimately left bereft, the sinking of his heart almost overcoming him. Even now he could hear them in the distance, short messages that told of the changing of the guard, of the first shift called to dinner, if he listened hard enough, if he hoped hard enough he could imagine he heard the long low drone of the horn which told of riders coming home.

"I am tired Gandalf, tired of this ache and of feeling so cold all the time, but I would not give it up," He leant his head back against the chair. "For to give it up would be to deny that I love him."

"No one could ever deny that you love him." Gandalf said softly, placing his hand over Aragorn's and pressing gently.

Aragorn swallowed roughly, closing his eyes, both dismayed and overjoyed at the clarity of the wonderful sights that always played behind closed lids, recalling the soft smile that played on Legolas' face when he was content, the way he would turn his face to the sun, eyes closed and relaxed.

The chamber door opened, a low groan of aged hinges jerking Aragorn from his reverie, the soft shuffle of footsteps just inside the door making him turn in his chair, frowning lightly at the dishevelled man in the doorway, hair windswept and face flushed as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, his hands clasped in front of him, fingers gently holding a neat square of folded paper. Aragorn stood, an odd tightness in his throat as he realised that he had not imagined the horn, that his ears had not deceived him with his foolish hope. "You have brought word?" he breathed, anxiety clawing up inside him.

"Yes my Lord," The man bowed as Aragorn approached, "I was met by a messenger riding south from the forest and he bid me bring this to you with all haste." He held out the letter for Aragorn to take, not even flinching at the speed with which it was taken.

Aragorn's fingers shook as he slid one beneath the seal, breaking it in a shower of shards as he unfolded the page, terrified and eager at the sight of the familiar handwriting, neat and flowing across the paper, eyes hungry, lips dry as he read, his heart feeling like a sinking weight within his chest.

_'My dear Estel,_

_I have arrived safely, my first action being to tell you so for I knew that you would worry. The forest has changed, the war affected our lands far greater than I could have thought, the armies are near depleted and I am grieved to learn that my brother's son perished in one of the many attacks on our lands._

_Father has plans to raze Dol Guldor in the hopes that with its absence it will hurry away the shadow that it once cast over the land. This will be the last act he shall achieve on these shores for he wishes to leave for the west as soon as this is done, his heart has grown heavy with the destruction of our once beautiful home._ _It dismays me to give you word that it is not just news of our victory that had reached these halls, it seems that the return of your once betrothed through Imladris prompted the reason for her departure to be carried here. He knows now of my love for you, of my desire to return to the White City, and I am in agony my love, for he has refused and bids me leave these shores with him. But still, i will talk with him, and I shall continue to hope, for what else can ease the pain in my heart other than the hope that I shall once again be able to look upon your face._ _I regret all the more now our parting, that I did not allow us another night as you so wished, but I know in my heart that I would not have made it past the walls before I became broken, that knowledge of our parting would have pained me even more than your touch would have been able to soothe, such wounds must be swift sometimes. For this I am sorry._ _I promise you my love, that I shall not leave these shores without a word, and know that I love you with all I have to give._ _Your Prince."_

Aragorn felt sick, reading over the short letter once again, tracing his fingers over the words and seeing now the washed stain of fallen tears upon the page, his heart breaking to know that his beautiful Prince had cried as he had written to him, the letter short and concise to no doubt lessen his pain.

He was hollow, empty and wasted as he fought for breath, chest tight as held the letter tightly, Gandalf's hand resting on his shoulder as he leant in to read the neat script.

"My Lord, I bid the other men to stay upon the road as a relay, should you need to, with a fresh horse I could leave this evening and any missive will reach the forest on the seventh day, God's willing." The messenger bowed before him, waiting for his response.

"Your efforts are most appreciated." Gandalf spoke for him, seeing Aragorn's crippling despair in the tightness of his face. "You have deserved a good meal and a restful night." The messenger smiled up at the wizard, bowing shortly and backing out the door.

"He is leaving." Aragorn whispered, voice lacking colour as he raised his stricken face to meet the wizards kindly concern. "Gandalf, he is leaving." He could feel himself shake, disbelief colouring his words, unable to comprehend how it could have come to this.

"It does not say that for sure." Gandalf countered urgently, taking the letter from Aragorn's hand before it fell from his fingers.

"I must go." Aragorn turned to the door but was stopped, a hand tight on his arm.

"Don't be hasty." Gandalf admonished, drawing him back and leading him to the table, one hand on his shoulder forcing him to sit back in his chair as the wizard settled himself neatly across from him, laying the letter between them. "It is just a short missive to let you know of his arrival." Gandalf stressed, laying his spread fingers over the page. "No doubt written the day he arrived; give him time, he says he will speak with his father." He held Aragorn's eyes with his grave regard.

"And should the King demand he leave...?" Aragorn gasped, unwilling to bear the thought, seeing Legolas standing on the shore in his mind's eye.

Gandalf smiled softly, incongruent with the conversation as he leant forward, eyes kind and voice soft as he whispered, "Trust him."

Aragorn held his breath, unable to tear his eyes away from his beloved's words written before him. "I do trust him." He breathed, "It's his father I do not trust."

Gandalf still smiled, inclining his head to concede Aragorn's point. "Despite all you know of Thranduil, he loves his son very much." He said, gravity weighting his words as he fixed Aragorn with a peculiar stare that unsettled Aragorn, turning away from the wizard's gaze, fingertips reaching out to trace the pattern of tears that had smudged the words, wishing with every fibre of his being that he could have been there to wipe them away, and wondering if there would ever be a time when he would be given the grace to so.


	22. Chapter 22

The days turned to weeks. The weeks into months. The stars changed their paths in the sky, folding away closer and closer to the south with every passing of dusk and dawn. The summer drew to a close and the days began to shrink, the light lost from every day and with it, the hope from Aragorn's heart.

Letters had gone back and forth, and with each paper he received he prayed silently that it would bring better news, but each letter finished the same, with a promise of love and the knowledge that Legolas would not leave him unannounced.

Now he began to dread each carefully folded letter, took his time reading every word in case it would be the last new thing written by the elf's hand, heart pounding and breath held, expecting to read that this was the end, that this last letter would be all he would have to hold onto in all the empty years to come.

His friends were patient, coercing him into long evenings sitting by fires, drinking and talking until the point he fell asleep in his chair, doing all they could to keep his mind from the agonies he tortured himself with. But they could not stop the wildness in his eyes when the horn rang through the levels to signal the arrival of a messenger from the north.

Aragorn settled back onto the bench, eyes half lidded as he basked in the glorious sunshine, the heavy leather jerkin that bore the white tree folded and forgotten beside him, cast off in deference to the wonderful heat of an unseasonably hot autumns' day and the rare opportunity that he had given to himself to have a day of no duties or responsibilities. Instead he had spent the day in the gardens, the gentle breeze stirring up the sweet smell of the blooming flowers and bringing laughter to his ears on its gentle waves.

Lifting his brow he watched as the Hobbits played out a perfectly choreographed rendition of their encounter on weathertop, with Merry coming in to play Aragorn's part, slicing and stabbing at the air to fend of imaginary foes as Eowyn clapped and laughed as she sat on the grass before them.

It was the closest he had come to peace in a long time and he allowed himself to sigh contentedly, allowing the guilt he felt at feeling relief from his self inflicted suffering to wash through him. He could give himself this freedom, to enjoy the company of those around him while he hoped for that of another's. But still, he could not help the restless tremor that shook his leg as he crossed them at the ankles, stretching them out before him.

The low drone of the horn called up from the lower level, catching everyone's attention and Aragorn couldn't help but wince as all eyes fell on him, awaiting his inevitable reaction. But he forced himself to stay seated, to etch a smile onto his face instead.

The Hobbits went back to their play, their spirited interpretation coming to an end as Frodo collapsed on the grass, grasping at his shoulder with a look of pain that almost convinced the Lady Eowyn that he really were in agony, and Aragorn almost joined in with her applause as she commended them. But his eyes had fallen away from the happy scene, sliding over to Gimli as the dwarf stood, leaning over the wall. He could read the curiosity in the angle of his back, the tilt of his head. He watched as Gimli said something low and quiet to Faramir, pointing over the wall as the steward closed the book he was reading, joining the dwarf in their perusal of whatever had caught their eye.

He felt the first stirrings of unease as they turned as one, a quick glance in his direction before they looked away when they found they were being watched, and Aragorn could not help but push himself to his feet, walking across the grass and past the laughing Hobbits to linger at the edge of their conversation, their murmured words reaching his ears but still indiscernible, seemingly blurred and weighted with the heat of the sun.

He need not ask what it was they discussed, could see for himself the plume of dust that rose across the plain, telling tale of many horses travelling at speed and Aragorn narrowed his eyes as he too leaned upon the wall, training his ranger senses to pick out any detail that would discern their identity. He could just make out the deep rusted red of a cloak fanned by the wind, and of several heads of fair hair.

"From Rohan do you think?" Faramir guessed, looking askance at Aragorn.

"No." Aragorn muttered, frozen. Riders of Rohan wore helms even in times of peace, these riders let their hair flow freely in the wind, to be left to stream behind them as the bore down upon the white city, and even from this height Aragorn could see the glint of gold upon the leader's brow, guessing with dread who it was that approached even as a page hurried into the garden, face glistening with sweat from his exertions of reaching them so soon.

"My lord," He bowed quickly, "A border scout was sent ahead to advise that the King of Mirkwood approaches." He looked nervously at Aragorn, unsure of his reaction, knowing only that they had all been told how anxiously their King awaited any news from the woodland realm.

Aragorn blanched, chilled despite the heat and the gazes that all swung to focus upon him. His cheeks should have flamed at such close appraisal, but he could feel himself pale under their watchful eyes.

His first instinct was to swear. Loudly and profusely. Anything to vent the sudden wave of panic that surged through him, making his heart quicken and thunder in his chest. He swung his gaze down again to look once more at the riders that approached his city.

"Thank you." He grated, teeth clenched, "The high courtyard will do fine." He dismissed the boy with his message.

His mind was blank, nothing but the dull roar of his heart beating in his ears to ease the trepidation that sank in his gut. He closed his eyes, recalling every barb and careful insult the King had thrown his way while he'd spent time in his court, his tolerance of Aragorn only held out of love for his son.

At once his eyes sprang open, a sudden hope bubbling up within him. Perhaps Legolas accompanied his father. He strode across the garden, hastily shaking out his jerkin and drawing it on over his head, hating the way his shirt plastered to his skin beneath its stifling weight.

He paid no heed to those around him, walking from the garden even as the others hurried to follow him, eager to follow and watch whatever scene it was that was about to play out. He ducked through an arch and walked down the meandering hall, following the twists and turns of a city cut out of rock, shadows and lights spilling out across the path in shards that blinded him as much as lit the way.

The high courtyard was a large open space on the penultimate tier, ringed by three high walls with hanging baskets that spilled over with flowers, perfuming the air that seemed to be amplified by the trapped heat even as the gentle breeze sought to bring a measure of relief.

Aragorn smoothed his sweating palms down the leather of his jerkin, wiping swiftly at the streaks with his sleeve. Walking to the edge of the wall he looked down upon the levels, the perfect vantage point to view the streets, watching the slow and steady procession of the horses through the melee of afternoon activity, people sidestepping and lining the walls, their faces upturned and following with rapturous expressions as the beautiful creatures passed.

Their wonder and joy could not be shared by Aragorn, not when his heart climbed further and further into his throat with every step that brought the King closer. He roved his eyes hungrily over each figure in the group, for a familiar movement, searching in vain for the recognizable twitch of hands on reins. He prayed fervently that they would look up, that maybe he would recognise one of the faces, that maybe he had not waited these months in vain. But they did not, rode instead with fixed gait, perfect formation behind their King who rode ahead, one hand on the hilt of the sword around his waist as he sat straight backed and chin held high. He drew back when the last golden head passed beyond sight, turning the final corner up to the last level, welcomed in through the gate which was shut behind them by duteous guards and shielding them from the curious stares of the residents that had dared to follow in a trance like state, drawn by the beauty and light of the fair folk that rode their streets.

'Courage,' Aragorn whispered to himself, shaking the hair from his eyes as he held himself straight, shoulders thrown back. He was the very picture of strength and dignity, the line of his jaw and the strong stance betraying nothing of the fear that made his skin crawl. He'd faced ten thousand Orcs with barely a flicker of the eye, but knowing that the Mirkwood king was within his walls made him tremble. But more so did the very real possibility that Legolas was with him, he was the general of the armies, had always taken a place in the Kings guard and Aragorn knew that his father prided himself on having his son known as one of the greatest warriors in all the elven realms. It would be unheard of for Thranduil to have left his forest without him. Unless he had purposely made him stay, had callously denied them even this small chance of seeing one another again.

Aragorn forced his breath to calm, silent and unwavering as the weight of condemnation pulled at him with the force of a thousand broken dreams, choking him even as a hand was laid upon his shoulder, unable even to turn to meet the wizard's eye as he stood beside him.

The sound of hooves grew closer, echoing sharply in the tense, silent air. Even the birds seemed to have stopped singing in deference to the anxiety and unease that seemed to fill the courtyard. The Hobbits shifted from foot to foot, hands clasped behind their back as they tried to stand taller. Gimli stood close beside Faramir and the citadel guards, both of them tense with their eyes just as much on Aragorn as the archway which even now was shadowed with long shapes cast by the afternoon sun.

How would he stop himself? How would he keep himself to this spot if he saw his beloved's face among the guard, how could he hold his tongue from calling out his name? Aragorn swayed, almost falling under the power of his longing, overtaken by the delirious hope that in just a moment he might see Legolas look down upon him, would see him shining in the sun.

The rhythmic march of the city guard came before the horses, the dark uniform a stark contrast to the blinding day as they marched, heralding the coming of the elven King. Aragorn held his breath, chest tight as the first of the King's guard swiftly entered the courtyard, their horses reined and turning as the elves looked down upon the small assembly, eyes cool and almost indolent as they swept the walls, glances flitting to every shadow, crevasse and corner all in a matter of a moment, trained and wary of all movement. Aragorn stared at them both, trying not to betray himself with the fire in his eyes as he searched their faces, moving from one to another other as they appeared, spreading before him in formation as the King came forward. But Aragorn did not have eyes for their leader, had not yet finished the painful search for his love within the amassed retinue, each flash of golden hair pulling his gaze as they dismounted, his hope both painfully sharp and aching as with each face that fell away from his perusal he realised that Legolas was not among them.

Aragorn felt weak, averting his gaze lest they see the sting in his eyes that threatened to overcome him, making him bite as his lip to prevent the anguished sob that welled up in his chest, choking at his throat, making each breath burn like fire. The wizards hand was upon his shoulder again, tight in its grip as his name was whispered with urgency, grasping at the edges of his control and grounding him in his pain, trying to make him stand tall. Aragorn hauled in a great, deep breath, wishing it would cool the burning of his heart as he steeled himself to meet the King's eye, aware now that Thranduil stood before him. Aragorn swallowed, body straightening and head held high as he brought his eye to meet the cool blue gaze.

His breath froze in his lungs, heart stopping. All thought ceased to exist and Aragorn wondered if he had finally gone mad, that the long nights of fevered dreams and hours spent in idle fantasy had now impressed themselves upon his waking vision, for surely he could not believe that the vision before him were true.

"Legolas...?" his voice could barely be heard, just a wisp of barely concealed disbelief.

There was no answer save the softness of the elf's shy, anxious smile, making Aragorn tremble and shake. It was truly him, his eyes did not deceive him and Aragorn felt as though his knees would buckle, eyes fixed upon the face that had haunted his dreams for too many nights, held fast by the eyes that he had begged and prayed to every manner of God's to be given the grace to see again.

He was so much more beautiful than Aragorn had remembered, just the sight of him causing a swift and deep bittersweet agony to rush through his veins as he took him in, hair loose beneath a crown of golden leaves, clothed in the regalia of his realm.

He stepped forward, legs shaking and mouth dry. "Is it truly you?" He breathed, voice trembling.

Legolas looked at him sadly, something pained in his eye as the softest hint of a smile crept across his lips. "Tis I." He whispered in reply, and the sound of his voice was all Aragorn needed to hear to know that he was truly real, the realisation rocking him and making his heart burst with an excruciating wave of rapture that he wavered, his step faltering and he would have fallen to his knees had he not been caught, Legolas' hands strong as he held Aragorn's arms, saving him from being overcome by his relief.

Aragorn laughed, an odd broken sound as he grasped at the elf's shoulders, his fingers clenching painfully into the soft folds of the rich velvet of his cloak. "You took the crown..." he whispered softly, holding the gaze that had yet to leave his face, dark with concern as he watched Aragorn map every feature of his face.

Legolas nodded, righting Aragorn on his feet, hand less bruising in their grip as he met the disbelieving stare. "Yes," He murmured, hands gentle as they carefully released the man. "It was the only way to stay." He met Aragorn's eyes with a sense of gravity and reserve, belying the softness of his voice that was meant for Aragorn's ears alone, eyes downcast and demure as he whispered quietly. "The only way I could see you again."

Aragorn closed his eyes. He knew that they stared at him, could feel the pointed gazes upon his face even as he loosened his grip, standing on his own as he tried to hold in check the desire to gather Legolas in his arms, to hold him close and breathe him in, to feel the beat of his unending heart against his own and know that each breath he would take with the elf in his arms would be sweet and healing in his ravaged lungs.

The silence seemed to flow around them, their whispered conversation lost to the others but not the meaning, for no one could deny the sweet ache that radiated from the two of them, could see the agony they put upon themselves to hold their hands by their sides, to fight the impulse to reach out and hold trembling fingers to sun lightened cheeks.

But they were not alone, far from it, surrounded not only by forgiving friends but by men under their command, dressed in the finery of their stations. Aragorn felt a smile lift at his lips as he fully appraised the elf before him, almost undone by awe and pride to see Legolas dressed so regally. He was lost for words, unable to convey just how utterly overcome he felt.

"I am sorry to have come unannounced." Legolas straightened, taking the smallest step back as he raised his voice for the benefit of those around him, and Aragorn watched the light play in his eyes as Legolas looked briefly to all the familiar faces, his smile spreading with genial warmth as he was met with astonished faces and wide grins.

"A wonderful surprise indeed." Gimli bellowed, striding forward and catching Legolas around the waist in a boisterous hug that made several of the elven guards step forward, their advance kept back with a wave of their King's hand.

"You would not have me believe that a Dwarf has missed the company of an Elf?" Legolas teased lightly and they laughed as Gimli sputtered and flustered, his face red above his beard as he grumbled.

"I have certainly not missed your wit." He griped, batting away Legolas' hand as the elf made to ruffle at his hair as he was won't to do.

"Well, I have missed you too." He smiled gently, looking around himself, eyes finally resting upon Aragorn with a look that sent a shiver of longing down the man's spine. "But I'm afraid I shall have to beg your pardon just a little while longer, for I desire to speak with your King, if he so pleases."

"Of course." The words had left Aragorn's lips before he even knew he'd thought them, granting whatever entreaty the elf could ask without question. Still he could not quite believe that Legolas were here, that he stood proud and strong with the sun shining on his face, making his eyes shine just as much as the ornate crown upon his brow. Aragorn waved his hand aside, gesturing the wide street beyond the courtyard that led up to the high level of the white tree. Aragorn could not have cared any less where the path led, would have gladly walked back into the depth and darkness of Mordor so long as he had the light and life of the elf by his side, could look upon his face and know that every one of his desperate prayers had been answered.


	23. Chapter 23

The walk to the next level was a swift one, a short tunnel cut into the rock that twisted upwards in a cool dark path and led them out into a burst of light, the effect never failed to impress upon Aragorn the beauty of his city, to walk out into the sunlight and see the magnificent view spread before him, the gentle breeze tugging at the few lone leaves that had bloomed on the white tree.

Aragorn nodded to one of the guards, face impassive in the heat as he stood ceremonial at the south point of the pool of light. Aragorn waved his hand in a dismissal, relieving them of their duty early. Legolas had carried on, face serene in the afternoon sun as he was drawn to the stone pinnacle and Aragorn was compelled to follow, breath catching as the Elf turned to him, face in profile as he watched the man's approach, his gaze twitching to where the citadel guards were marching as one into the echoing hall, no doubt glad to be out of the sweltering heat.

At last the footsteps faded, and no sound could be heard other than the gentle song of the birds upon the breeze and the faint laughter of children playing in the city below. Aragorn was achingly aware that they were alone, that his fingers itched with a rending desire to reach out and touch the face before him, to see Legolas turn into his caress in a way that had always twisted at Aragorn's heart.

But he wasn't the only one who had felt the keen, sharp agony of their separation, was not the only one to spend the nights awake with pained breath and aching heart, and Aragorn gasped and sighed to find Legolas suddenly in his arms, those lips upon his in a sudden slow and hungry kiss, a longed for touch curling around the back of Aragorn's neck to hold him close even as his arms held fast about the Elf's waist, pulling them together. Bright, bursting elation flooded through him, the lightness of his heart pulling the breath from his lungs and he smiled into the kiss as he felt Legolas sigh against his lips, bringing his hand up to hold the smooth cheek in his hand.

He whispered his beloveds name, breathless with love and adoration as he swept back golden hair, holding him fast as he claimed his lips again, drinking in the taste of him, the way he fit against Aragorn's body, his gentle touch upon the man's face doing everything to sooth away the gnawing darkness that had crept into every crack and crevasse of his wretched soul.

They parted slowly, heads resting together as they breathed as one, a soft smile curling at the elf's lips. "I'm sorry," He murmured quietly, his hands gentle upon Aragorn's chest, "I could not have gone another moment without your touch."

Aragorn leant back, his hands sweeping up to hold the perfect face within his hands. "Nor I." He said in return, unable to fully believe that he were not dreaming. He drew his fingertips across silken cheek, light and gentle in their caress as he traced the shadow of the crown upon his brow. "You are really here," He whispered brokenly, "You really came."

Legolas looked pained, eyes dark and injured as he watched Aragorn's gaze sweep over him. "You believed I had left you for good?" he asked, voice tight.

Aragorn swallowed roughly, unable to shake his head or deny the hurt that had grown into a cold stone around his heart, that with every letter that had passed through his hands without the promise of his return had left him with a bitter chill that seeped into every breath that fell numbly from his lips. "I confess, I held little hope that we should be given the grace to see each other again." He held their heads together again, eyes closed as he felt the soft press of lips to his cheek, like the silken fall of petals on his skin as they travelled across his face, against his closed eyes until finally they came again to meet his lips, Aragorn opening up to the gentle fervour of the elf's kiss, filled with pain and sorrow.

"My love..." Legolas breathed, leaning into Aragorn so that their bodies met. "My love, I did not mean to leave you with such doubt." He took the hand that Aragorn held to his face, pressing it instead to the elf's heart, beating wildly in his chest.

"My doubt means nothing now." Aragorn whispered, "Forgive me." He trailed his thumb over soft lips.

"You need never ask my forgiveness." Legolas shook his head, "Tis I who wronged you, I should have written sooner to let you know that I would come, that I had made my choice."

Aragorn raised his gaze to the crown of golden leaves that wove together with fair hair, "And what exactly is your choice?" he asked softly, a gentle tremor in his back as Legolas drew away, his hand still lingering in Aragorn's grip as the elf sighed.

"There are not many of us left." He smiled sadly, "A little over a thousand in all, most of us from the forest where the call of the sea has long been overpowered by our love of the trees." He leant back against the wall and turned his face into the breeze, gazing out over the mountains to the south to where the elves used to leave the shores long ago. "My father renamed the Greenwood, and I have united all who remain in this world under one banner, that of Eryn Lasgalen." He turned a smile on Aragorn who felt his mouth drop.

"You rule all the elves in Middle Earth?" Aragorn gasped, laughing at the nonchalant look on the Elf's face.

"There is no one else who is high born left." Legolas said softly, the admission paining him, "And with the loss of their Lords and Ladies, those who dwell further south were glad to join us." Aragorn felt himself well with pride, his respect at odds with Legolas' humility, paying little heed to Aragorn's bright smile as he continued, looking suddenly pensive. "Do you remember the night after we battled at Helm's Deep?" He held Aragorn's gaze as the man himself cast himself back to that hellish place, the stench of blood and decay thick in his lungs for day afterwards.

"I remember." Aragorn whispered, although he dearly wished he didn't.

"There was nothing green there." Legolas whispered, "Nothing but darkness and rock. I had never felt despair as much as I did that night as I watched the men of Rohan dig through the bodies to claim their dead, to gather their lifeless children in their arms knowing that there would never be a day where the sun would shine in their hearts again." A look of overwhelming sadness passed across his face and Aragorn shared in his dismay, still unable to clearly recall the aftermath of their victory among the memories he had suppressed out of need and desire.

"I did not cry for their loss of life. I could not. For to shed a tear that night would have been the end of me." He brushed his fingertips gently against Aragorn's cheek. "You found me that night, far apart from the crowd." Legolas smiled, "You had been to the top of the ravine, had climbed who knows how high, and you had returned with a single leaf. Bright and green and defying the carnage that littered the canyon floor."

Aragorn remembered that moment, when he had looked across the battlefield to the grief stricken look that shone in the elf's eyes he had felt a surge of fire boil in his veins, the horror on the prince's face echoed in the sickening hollow in his stomach and he vowed he would do anything to calm the wildness in the elf's eyes, to clean away the hideous streaks of black blood that darkened his hair and smudged his cheek, for nothing should mar such perfection.

"I told you of my fears that night." Legolas said slowly, "That my home grew darker with every passing year, that the war was already at our borders and within the boughs, the darkness creeping closer with each setting sun." He sighed deeply, "You told me then, that should we come out whole, that when you took the crown, you would gift me the forests of Ithilien, for they were some of the fairest forests you had ever walked within." He regarded Aragorn now with a hopeful look. "Do you still hold true to your promise?" he asked.

Aragorn felt his heart in his throat, his mouth dry as he nodded, fighting against the urge to admonish the other for feeling the doubt that could ever lead to hope. "Of course."

Legolas smiled, bright and blinding and he laughed shortly, a wonderful sound that made Aragorn share in his relief, the feeling of tension drifting away with the breeze. "Thank you," He breathed, "Eryn Lasgalen has seen so much destruction that very few are willing to remain, they are too broken to see their home so devastated, to remain where so many of their loved ones died." Here he took Aragorn's hand in his, standing straight before him. "I want to bring them south, to let them live with a measure of peace before they leave." He brought himself closer, holding their hands between them as he spoke softly, his weighted words breaking Aragorn's resolve. "It is only two days ride to South Ithilien." His eyes were dark as he looked up at Aragorn through his lashes, "And I have my own stewards that I can trust." He slipped his hand within his tunic, sliding free a crumpled piece of paper, bringing it up so that Aragorn could recognise his own writing upon the missive. "You wrote to the King to ask permission for my stay here," He smiled coyly, "Well, I am King now..." He pressed Aragorn's hastily written request back into the man's hand and smiled as the realisation of his words passed with wonder across the man's face.

"You will stay...?" Aragorn breathed, shock and astonishment lighting his face despite the shadow of doubt that lingered always at the edge of his mind, still not quite believing that he did not dream, that he might wake at any moment to find that he had walked within his yearning visions once again. But the hand curled around his was real, as was the feel of the letter in his hand and the beautiful face before him, smile soft and eyes alive as Legolas nodded.

Dream or not, it did not matter, for nothing could have stopped Aragorn then from lifting the elf in his arms, from holding him tight against his chest and pressing his face into the tumble of golden hair as Legolas reached his arms around Aragorn's neck, his musical laughter filling the courtyard as Aragorn turned, spinning them slowly as he whispered the elf's name over and over again in reverential prayer.

His heart sung, overjoyed and overwhelmed as they held on to one another, hands in each other's hair as they kissed, hungry and desperate with the thought of coming home, that Legolas had found a way back to him, had overcome the odds to return to his side, more wonderful, more beautiful than ever, and Aragorn felt that he could weep with the joyful elation that burned brightly in his heart. "You will stay." He whispered again, relishing the truth that fell from his lips.

"There is still so much I must do." Legolas leant back within the circle of Aragorn's arm, face glowing as he smiled up at the man, "But every day I can spend beside you I shall, and a day will come where I will not have to leave your side at all." He reached up to brush the hair from Aragorn's eyes, such a wondrous look of love upon his face that Aragorn wondered just what it was he had done to be given such a gift from the gods.

"I cannot think of anything I desire more in this world." Aragorn carefully gathered an errant strand of golden hair between his fingers, tucking it back behind pointed ear and smoothing his hand down the rest of the silken mane, letting his hands rest on the elf's shoulders, leaning forward to kiss him chastely, the merest brush of his lips as he whispered between them, "I love you." His heartfelt profession breathed in return upon sweet breath, sealed with a gentle, tender kiss, hands sliding surely around the man's waist as Aragorn's folded the elf into his arms, feeling whole and complete after so long broken.

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That night they celebrated the new King's return, a great feast with many songs and dancing that lasted long into the night, and Aragorn cared not for the long low stares that followed every held glance and long touch he held on the elf's arm, and there were more than a few whispers and sidelong glances as Aragorn had held out his hand to lead the elven King in a dance, although they were certainly not the most out of place pair on the floor, for Gimli and Merry were also taking a turn and Pippin had somehow convinced Faramir to let him stand upon his feet as they too took to the floor, all of them laughing gaily as the best of friends.

They sat and talked until the moon arced it's path across the sky, setting once again behind the mountains and with her light leaving the sky so did many of the guests, leaving one by one with yawns and stretches, the promise of a warm bed and a soft pillow drawing them away from the companionable silence that filled the once bustling room, until slowly, inevitably, Aragorn and Legolas were left alone.

They let the quiet of the night surround them, lulling them into a comfortable repose as they sat side by side near the banked fire, drinking slowly and savouring the chance to relax in each other's presence after a long and arduous day. Aragorn let his eyes travel the familiar plains of the elf's face as he gazed into the fire, lit by the gentle warmth of the low flames. He could not help but bring his hand up to trace his cheek, to smile as Legolas let his eyes fall close, leaning into the touch with a soft sigh. "I missed you." Legolas said quietly, barely heard above the crackling of the flames, but the pain in his voice was felt in the quickening of Aragorn's heart.

Legolas turned his face to Aragorn, eyes shadowed but unable to cloud the desolation in his gaze. "I thought I would go mad or die from the pain of it." He turned his hand when Aragorn dropped his, curling around the elf's until their fingers laced together.

"That is behind us now." Aragorn countered softly, "There is nothing now to keep us apart." He squeezed the hand in his, the small hint of a comforting smile upon his lips.

Legolas nodded slowly, but the tightness did not leave his face. He turned instead to the fire, eyes closed as he breathed deeply. "I dreamt of you." He breathed lowly, speaking slowly as though unsure of his own words, "They were so real, that for a long time I could not tell which world I walked in."

"You fear this is a dream?" Aragorn said lowly, understanding now the hesitance that tinged azure eyes with darkness. Legolas looked down at their hands entwined, placing his glass upon the table as he shifted in his chair, letting himself draw incomprehensible patterns on the back of Aragorn's hands, stroking the warm skin before bringing it up to press his cheek against it, his skin cool against Aragorn's as he whispered his painful affirmation, "Yes."

"Tis no dream Legolas." Aragorn leant forward in his chair, drawing their joined hands so that he might press his lips to the palm of the elf's hand.

"That is what you always say." Legolas said smoothly, brow raised with a shy smile.

Aragorn smiled in return, meeting the playful glint in the elf's eye. "And I shall say it every day should you need me to."

"I should ask you never to wake me if this is in fact a reverie." He sat back in his chair with a fluid grace, keeping his gaze upon Aragorn.

"As is your command." Aragorn conceded, agreeing willingly to whatever command Legolas might ask of him.

They returned to silence, their hands never parting as they held each other gently, and it was a long time that Aragorn looked at him, let himself bask in the heart wrenching vision of his wonderful Prince. 'King', he reminded himself with a smile, letting his eyes catch the light that reflected from the circle of leaves upon his brow, the firelight sinking into the silken folds of his hair as it hung around his shoulders, but mostly the warm play of the fires low light served to highlight the light frown that creased his brow. "The dreams of elves are not supposed to leave you with sorrow." Aragorn said gently and he felt the hand held within his own twitch.

"No," Legolas sighed quietly, "They do not."

Aragorn waited, letting the minutes drag out between them, biding his time as he knew that when he were ready the elf would speak, had never held Aragorn in the dark when it came to his thoughts. "I grieve only for those who have now been parted from our lives." He pressed Aragorn's hand within his own, offering him a quick smile that did not seem to reach his eyes.

Aragorn straightened, contemplative as he carefully measured his words, testing them in his mind before he spoke them in fear that he may inflict a greater pain. "You have not yet said how it is you were allowed to stay in Middle Earth." He watched the face before him, catching only the barest flicker of guilt and anguish on the perfect face.

"It was simple." Legolas countered at length, "My father came to realise that even his desire to keep me safe could not outweigh the strength of my heart." He met Aragorn's gaze with a level stare. "That I could no sooner leave these shores that rend my soul in two, for I was bound to this land with every breath you breathed." He stroked his thumb along the back of Aragorn's hand, watching the action with a blank look. "He knew just as I did that my heart would break before I even reached the shores." Legolas sighed, raising his other hand to his brow and rubbing at the tiredness that seemed to tighten his stare, "He spent so many nights trying to convince me of my mistakes." He shook his head, seemingly to cast off whatever thoughts had plagued him. "But it is of no matter now. We left each other's company with words of love, and that is what matters."

Aragorn could see that Legolas hid his true feelings, had veiled the extent of his pain beneath the cool and inscrutable mask that he had practiced over the years. He regretted his actions, should not have mentioned his father, not when the guilt and pain was still so near. This day was not for sorrow, this day was for joy and celebration, for having each other near, for feeling his heart light and the weight from his shoulders gone knowing that he could simply sit and hold one gentle hand within his own.

But the day was over, and the night almost gone too, and Aragorn felt a desire of another kind begin to race in his veins, a craving need to soothe away the ache he saw in the elf's eyes, to kiss away the lingering edge of doubt that creased his brow, and so he stood, slowly and with purpose, drawing the fire lightened gaze. Aragorn tugged lightly on the elf's hand, pulling him up to stand before him, the air suddenly thick with tension, as though Legolas could read his intention in his eyes before he whispered into the heated darkness, "Come with me...?"

Aragorn could see the shiver run through his beloved, his eyes darken as Aragorn raised his hand to draw down his pale, smooth cheek in a slow, loving gesture, guiding the way for Aragorn to gently place a kiss to the corner of his mouth, slow and sweet even as Legolas turned to meet him, the warm touch of the elf's hand against his face as he turned Aragorn towards him, pliant and passive under Aragorn's kiss.

He did not need to speak for Aragorn to know his answer, could read it instead in the love and trust within his eyes, his own joy met and mirrored and together they walked side by side from the great hall, their footsteps light and nearly silent as the first rays of dawns pre light began to lighten the sky above them.


End file.
